


Memoirs of a Girl Detective

by angelxhoney



Series: Memoirs of a Girl Detective [1]
Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29544153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelxhoney/pseuds/angelxhoney
Summary: A twenty something year old wakes up alone in 1928 New York, confused and alone. Mystery, romance and wild danger ensues. I can never find enough fanfiction for Davis or Charlotte, and though there are more for Vitto we could stand a few more. So, I decided I would rewrite their routes to give them a proper romance- This will be written in whole to a certain point, and then split into three separate fanfictions for each respective end romance. Thank you and please enjoy!
Relationships: Elizabeth Colvin/Charlotte Harris, Elizabeth Colvin/Edmund Davis, Elizabeth Colvin/Vittorio Puzo
Series: Memoirs of a Girl Detective [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170587
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please, bear with me- I've never posted publicly on any fanfiction forums before. My first few chapters are a lot of background building, a sort of re-write of the first few chapters of GM. Feel free to skip them if you're looking to get to the romance. I'm still updating, probably every other day-

January 17th, 1928

I woke up to the early morning sun peeking through my single apartment window, cold and clear. I curled my legs closer to my chest, huddling under the thin quilt that had kept me at least from freezing during this cold January. With a slight grimace, I squinted at the clock near my bed. Painted a cool teal, the analog was topped with two little silver bells and the hands pointed to about a quarter to eight. It looked like something my grandmother might have had, or my grandmother’s mother. I sat up, and a wash of memories hit me like a wave of icy water. _Growing up in the Midwest, leaving the farm, moving to New York, earning my degree at Imperial, getting my job at the Sun- The Sun? A job?_

“Oh, my God, I’m going to be late!”

I skittered out of bed and into my bathroom, only to be stunned into a standstill once more by the reflection looking back at me. Her mousey brown hair fell in waves that just barely touched her shoulders. A spray of freckles covered her face, heavily concentrated across the bridge of her upturned nose. A set of grey-green eyes stared back into me- still my eyes, at least. My mind placed her as a cross between Holiday Granger and Katherine Hepburn. She wasn’t the me I knew, but she still moved when I moved, and I was still late. So for today, we were one.

Working as quick as I could to pin my hair into a resemblance of some twenties updo I saw in a Youtbe tutorial once. _Oh, god, the internet doesn’t exist anymore. Or yet, I guess._ With a frustrated sigh I use the tin of mascara to do my liner, brows and lashes a deep brown, used my cherry red lipstick to rouge my cheeks and paint my lips. I shuddered a little, remembering the chemicals they used for these products back in the day, but I didn’t really have the time to worry about it. The analog read five til now. I barely had time to trip into my stockings and a drop hemmed dress before I was running out the door to catch the bus for Fifth Avenue. 

_Elizabeth._ My brain reeled, catching onto my name and pulling it in. _Elizabeth Colvin._ I thought the little creature had been a dream, a weird figment of my hungover birthday brain. The ‘storybook’ my uncle had given me for my twenty-third birthday had actually been a collection of journals, dated and written to look as if they had been from different periods of history. The note he had left tucked into the twine keeping the books together had detailed that he had found it in an antique book shop, and the worn leather binding had caught his eye. Knowing my adoration for all things old and unique, he had thought it a perfect present- and he of course, had been right. I looked into my messenger bag full of papers and noticed one of the little leather books tucked in there, looking much newer. I ran my fingers over its barely broken spine in marvel. It was unmistakably the one I had been flipping through last night before bed, in my bed, a century after where I was right now. _How the hell did I get here?_

The bus rattled to a halt at what I decidedly knew was my stop. I ran as fast as my heel clad feet would let me to my building, skittering into the elevator before it closed like Indiana Jones. The tiny crowded loft shook as I watched the numbers climb, lighting up a dull amber until they hit the twenty-fifth floor. The doors opened and I practically fell onto the tiled floor, just barely maintaining my balance as the doors slid shut again behind me. My coworkers were already fast at work, their fingers clicking away on inky black typewriters or tracing copies of articles with the bottoms of red pens. A few eyes flitted up to acknowledge my entrance, but most didn’t even notice. A red-headed young man, about a year or so younger than me, motioned me over towards his desk. I quickly crossed over to him and sat in the chair he had pulled out beside him. 

“You’re late again, Lizzie..” he whispered as I opened up the case to my own typewriter. Also teal. It seemed I had a favorite color. I kept my eyes down, flushed with embarrassment. Tucked a piece of loose paper into the feed. The young man shook his head, but I caught a bemused smile playing across his face in my peripherals. “You’re alright. Martin is even in yet-”

“Late again, eh, Colvin?” Another man jested, slamming a hand down on my shared desk. Both me and the red-head looked up, startled. “You have _got_ to stop covering for her, Clarence. Hell, even a skirt dumb as she is might even catch that you’re sweet on her.”

Clarence’s ears flushed as red as his hair. I felt my blood start to boil; I wasn’t sure if I was more angry about the man’s insults towards me or his teasing Clarence. “Don’t call me that, Jason. And it was an accident, my alarm didn’t ring this morning. I’m lucky I got here when I did.” _Jason, right._

“Really? You sure you weren’t just up all night editing another article for the Chief to reject, kitten?” Jason scoffed. “Or are you still tailoring the last one to try and sneak it through?”

“Would you can it? Your speaking voice is a hundred decibels louder than a full crowd in Yankee Stadium. I’d hate to hear your outside voice.” I growled. “Though truly, I just hate to hear your voice in general. Now, I told you what happened, and please don’t call me _that_ either.”

Jason tucked his fingers under the hinged cap of my typewriter case and in one swift motion, flipped it over to close it onto my poised hands. I squeaked in pain as the case bit into my fingers. “Right, right, I forgot, that would be pointless. Any article written by any skirt is useless, even after editing.” He snickered, continuing his harassment as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, women should not be reporters. You’d be much better off as a housewife. Do you bake, Lizzie? You’d better have something more than those stilts to make up for that smart mouth.”

I could barely contain my rage at this point. Shaking, I stood from my desk, nails digging into the wood. “You slick little b-”

“Elizabeth.” 

Another female voice calls my name from across the room, swiftly putting an end to our argument. “The Chief wants to see you in his office, now.”

My hands relaxed from their taunt hold on my desk as Jason swaggers away with a smug smile, pleased with the outcome of our altercation. I give the other woman a curt nod, and she retreats into the glassy room behind her that reminds me of a fishbowl- I can only assume it is the office she is referring to. I smoothed my dress and hurry towards her, flashing a gentle smile at Clarence as he watches me leave with a sympathetic glance. 

_Yesterday's article… I’m honestly not even sure what I wrote about. Oh, and I thought it was tough being a woman in today’s society- I don’t think I can even own a bank account for maybe another forty years! I don’t even know if I’m a good writer or not- I would think I am, I have a bachelor’s degree from an upstanding school- but with the way they’re treating me, I don’t know if it’s a lack of talent or just sexism._

I lift my hand to knock on the etched office door, but a gruff male shout calls for me to come in without further delay. To my sides stood four other interns, one woman and three men. All of us stood in front of a heavy mahogany desk, beautifully carved with a large sun on the center-face. Leaning back in a large chair sat an even larger, burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a face deep set with wrinkles that made him look much older than he was. Both polished black leather shoes sat on top of the beautiful desk, a disdainful barrier set between us and the man. A gold placard shone near his shoes, engraved with the words ‘ _Editor in Chief_ ’. 

“Did I hear you were late again, Colvin?” The man scolded.

“I-”

The Chief waved his hand, not letting me finish my sentence. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Honestly I don’t care if you’re late or not, I care if your articles attract readers.” His attention turns away from me and he broadens his words to include the other interns. “All of you. If you want to make it in this market, you need to know how to make headlines that pull even those who don’t regularly buy papers. You need to cater to all of New York.” He pauses to scratch his beard, thinking. “Luckily, I’ve found the perfect opportunity for a few young reporters like yourselves.”

“The Metropolitan Hospital has been making some waves. Maybe you’ve heard, maybe you haven’t, but I think it’s big. I think they’re hiding something. We need someone to look into it- I want a report by Wednesday at the latest. So, which of you is going to give it a shot?” The Chief smiles as though he’s given us a golden goose egg. 

_Metropolitan…_ I rack Elizabeth’s memory for context clues. What I find horrifies me- _Metropolitan Hospital is a psychiatric ward._ I shuddered, bringing a hand to rest over my heart as if it would soothe the sickening sadness that came with remembering how mental hospitals were run in this era. _Filthy living conditions, extreme overcrowding, electroshock therapy, beatings, patients left unfed and alone, bound in straps to beds and chairs until they were nothing but skin and bones._ Around me, the other interns murmured amongst themselves. A few cast weary glances my way. _I don’t want to go there. They institutionalized people for anything in the 20’s- I could get trapped there!_

“Have you all come to a decision?” The Chief asked after a few minutes. The murmuring stopped immediately, and one by one, my colleagues began to give their excuses. 

The woman spoke first. “I’d love to go, Uncle Martin, but I’m really busy editing last week's article on home economics.” 

Again, the Chief waves his hand. “That’s fine, Mary. You’re still new. Take your time.” His tone with her is gentle, and it’s aggravating me. _New? She’s been here four months! Family first, huh?_

“Phillip is busy too.” Mary offered, looking sideways through her thick lashes at the man beside her. Beneath the desk and out of view, the man called Phillip gave Mary a little pat on her rear. _They must be a package, then._

“Right, I’m still finishing up on the article about the gang fight downtown.” He added, playing into his girl’s story. The Chief buys it. 

“Jones, Dennis?”

The other two men decline as well, detailing excuses about their mother and an article about Prohibition, which has been in full swing for a few years now if I remember correctly.

“What about Elizabeth?” Mary suggested. At the mention of my name, my muscles clamped, my fingers curling into the pit above my collar bone. _Thanks, for that._

The Chief looked over me, his face stern. He seemed to mull over something, and he was quiet a good minute before he spoke again. “Elizabeth- every other person in this room submitted a passable article this past week. Granted, Mary’s had to be edited three times, but- it was still readable, in the end. Even after five rounds, yours still wasn’t worth putting in the paper.”

“That’s-”

“Enough.” The man shook his head, running his fingers back through his beard again. “No more excuses. I’m giving you a chance. Investigate the hospital, or don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” 

I stood there, silently quaking with rage. The man acted as if he was doing me a favor when really, all he was doing was being an ass. The room sat uncomfortably silent until I finally answered. “Yes, sir. I’ll cover the hospital.” The atmosphere relaxed. I was too tired for anymore ridicule or conflict, and it was only nine-thirty. 

“Good.” Chief smiled, though the smile did not reach his eyes. “Great. You’re excused for the rest of the day to look into it, then. I want to see something good from you, this time.”

I nodded again before excusing myself. _Good God, why did I pick this book?_

_**********************_

The hospital stood on the outskirts of the city, pushed into the woods behind a set of suburbs. The cab ride there had been tranquil enough; I jotted down a few questions for myself to answer inside, asked the driver a few questions about the area that received vague and unhelpful answers- but mostly, I took in the scenery. I had been to New York once, back in 2014 to see the Macy’s Day parade with my family. It had been cold then, too- and I was surprised to see that the similarities did not end there. While there were no digital billboards or modern touches, the city skyline still shined with lights, and it bustled with endless traffic. I recognized more names than I thought I would, too. Macy’s was still as massive as I remembered, and plasters on the sides of buildings advertised Fuji Electric and soda fountains that proudly served Coca-Cola. I kept my nose almost pressed against the glass until we got onto gravel roads, when my nose had then promptly slammed into the window. 

When the cab finally came to a stop, we were parked outside of a dark and tall iron fence. It’s curling pattern did nothing to make it seem any less foreboding- the building looked more like a prison than a hospital. A guard pulled the gate open for us, and we rounded a small pond to park in front of the thick double doors. I tipped the driver a dollar (which I later realized was a _lot_ of money) and waved as he happily drove away and said he would make sure he was the one to pick me up. As I entered the center lobby of the hospital, a middle aged woman came out of a room to my left. 

“Hello, ma’am?” I asked hesitantly.

The woman paused, and then smiled warmly at me. “Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest. I’m no ma’am, I’m far too young for that. What can I help you with?” 

I looked at her, trying to hide my disbelief. By the looks of her, she was well into her forties, if not breaking fifty. None-the-less, I decided buttering her up could do me no harm. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t see your face behind all those linens. Could you maybe answer some questions for me?” I took out my notebook from my bag and a pencil. “See, I’m a reporter for the Sun News, and-”

The woman’s previously gentle demeanor changed immediately to one of disdain and irritability. “No, no absolutely not. This is a place of _healing_ , these poor souls have enough to deal with without your yellow journalism, coming up here and writing lies about how we care for our patients. Well, I don’t see your medical license, young lady! Now, shoo, get on with you.” 

“But- ugh.” The woman doesn’t even let me finish speaking before she shuffles off, taking her folded sheets through another set of double doors. I bit my lower lip, thinking hard about what to do next. As I turned to leave, my eyes crossed the plaque on the door that the woman had come through- ‘ _Nurses Quarters’._

_Perfect._

After a quick look-around, I turned the handle to the door. To my surprise, it was unlocked- perhaps because the patients were on a different floor? It didn’t matter. I slid into the corridor and paced into one of the first open rooms. Inside was a twin sized bed, a nightstand and a vanity, with one small closet built into the wall. _I forgot the staff used to just live in these sorts of facilities._ The light pink walls were decorated with a paper trim with painted roses, and all of the furniture matched. I grimaced. _Something tells me the patients rooms aren’t nearly as nice as this._ Tucking my bag under the vanity, I rummaged through the closet until I came across a uniform just like the one the woman from earlier had been wearing. The soft pink cotton was almost the same color as the walls, with a white apron and matching hat that reminded me more of something a waitress might wear than a nurse. _Nor does it look like it matches the sanitary measures of scrubs, for that matter._ I changed, thanking the powers that were that I had worn white t-straps today instead of my favorite brown heels. Using the vanity to make sure my new hat was pinned correctly, I hurried back out into the lobby from which I came. Instead of taking the double doors like the other nurse, I decided to follow the stairs up to my right. 

The second floor was noticeably less tidy than the first. It’s tile floors were streaked with dirt, and the walls that once might have been a bright white were now a murky grey, with patches of yellow and white showing through. Heavy metal doors lined the hall, with people crowded between them in a sea of white hospital gowns. It was already very bad. 

“You, hey. You’re needed in Block A.” A sharp voice snapped. A blonde nurse, only a little older than myself, was pointing at me. 

“Right, um. Yes ma’am.” I replied, my eyes darting over the signs above the halls around me. The woman sighed, exasperated. 

“Another new hire, huh?” She shook her head. “Block A is that way, ditz. Women’s ward.” 

I clasped my hands together in gratitude at her before running off in the direction she pointed. Through another hallway or two, I find the sign that labels itself the women’s ward. There doesn’t seem to be any trouble, however- at least, none that my untrained eye can see. As I adjusted my sleeves, a commotion grabbed my attention. From around the corner, a teenage girl ran towards me, her thick black curls streaming behind her as she flew. 

“Help! I need your help, please! They’re going to hurt me!” 

She slammed into me, her arms clinging to my waist as she shuffled her way behind my back like a frightened child. I suppose that’s exactly what she was, truthfully. I turned to meet her, cupping her face in my hands. 

“Hey, hey calm down, it’s alright. Who’s going to hurt you?”

The girl shook with sobs. “They’re going to lock me up again, please- please, I’ve been a good girl, I don’t understand. Why do they want to lock me away again, I didn’t do anything this time-” Her last sentence faltered as she hiccuped on another cry.

“Who are they, sweetie?’

The girl didn't answer. Instead, her eyes widened as she took in the light pink fabric of my dress. Her arms immediately withdraw, and she backs away from me in fear. “No, no, I’m sorry miss, I’ll be good, I promise! I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, I’m not a nurse.” I whispered fervently. The girl didn’t move. “I’m not a nurse.” I repeated. “I’m a reporter, for the Sun.”

Slowly, she crept back towards me. “Really?” I nodded. “C-can you help me? Please, I want to go home. Take me home with you, I-” Abruptly, she clamped her hands over her mouth. 

“Of course, honey. Just tell me-”

“Stella.”

 _I am getting damned tired of being interrupted,_ I thought to myself as I turned to face the newest man in this story. Unfortunately for me, the man who now faced me was _stunning._ His hair matched irrefutably with the girls behind me, leaving me to infer that they were at least family. His high cheekbones and sharp jawline gave him the air of a model, though his eyes were far too serious for that sort of life. The Italian suit that he wore was most certainly tailored to him personally, if not completely custom made. I was looking at a rich man. 

“Are you going to bring me home now, _fratello?”_ Stella’s voice quivered. 

Her brother shook his head, his brow drooped in pity. His voice dripped with a velvety European accent. “ _Tesoro,_ I’m sorry. I can only bring you home if you get better.”

Stella began to sob again. “Please, please, I can’t be here anymore, I want to go home!”

Watching the frail girl cry was breaking my heart. I cleared my throat, earning the tall man’s attention. “Sir, if you have the means- please, take her home. She… she misses all of you, terribly. She would show far more improvement in a… more familiar environment. With support.” 

Stella’s brother genuinely looks as if he’s pondered my words. After looking around the dirty halls around him for a moment, he spoke. “Thank you, nurse, for the suggestion. I’ll consider it.” 

I gave him a warm smile. _For once I think someone might have actually listened to me here. I’ll be damned._

“Can I get some help? Room 247 is having another relapse!” Yet another blonde nurse called out, her hands frantically wringing her apron. I don’t move at first, worry coating my thoughts. _I’ve seen enough, I think. I should leave before anyone else really pays attention to me._ The nurse waved, this time looking directly at me. “You, come on, please!”

“Ah- duty calls!” I gave a quick curtsy to the man before dashing off to follow her. She glared at me, as if to say ‘took you long enough,’ before leading me into a room another corridor away. The further I descended into the hospital, the more despair I witnessed. It was almost as if the building just got darker and dirtier with every step I took. Nurses yelled violently at their patients, and doctors were seemingly indifferent to their treatment. Patients lay curled into balls, covered in bruises and cuts, crying out for their loved ones. 

“Here,” the nurse nudged a pair of leather straps into my hands. “You secure her to the bed, I’ll hold her down. Jessica Taylor has at least one of these spazzes everyday now. You’d think we’d just leave her strapped down at this point.” I could only nod in feigned agreement.

The ward we entered was repulsive. The walls were grimy, the windows bared, and beneath the feeble and writhing body of the woman I was about to traumatize, the bed was thoroughly stained. Another nurse, this one a brunette, was struggling to hold the seizing woman down. 

“Stop staring, damnit, and tie her down!” The first woman snapped. I obliged, and with some difficulty, I managed to strap the patient down. As I wrapped the leather around her frail wrists, my heart broke as I took in the white line on her finger where her wedding ring must have sat for many years. I could only wonder who had taken that from her. As soon as she’s secured, the other two nurses abandon the ward. I took in the woman lying next to me.

Jessica Taylor was tiny. She must have been small before she was institutionalized, but now, she almost looked like a child. Her gown lay in tatters, and her dark blonde hair was tangled into sections that obscured her face. A low cry escaped her throat, a choked sob of sadness and pain. I kneeled beside her, pushing past the smell of festering urine to try and comfort her. One of the nurses returned, almost as an afterthought. 

“Watch her, will you? I have to go and talk to Dr. Freeman about proceeding with her surgery.”

“...Surgery?” I stammered. “She’s in no shape for any sort of procedure.”

The nurse sighed loudly, tossing her head back. “How many times do I have to explain this to you girls. That’s _why_ she’s having the surgery. Lobotomies are the cure for all types of crazy.” 

I felt bile rise to my throat. _I forgot lobotomies were commonplace back then. The brain is too complex of an organ for someone to just drive an icepick into it- they’ll just scramble her into nothingness. Or kill her, for that matter._ I glanced back to Jessica. _Although I don’t know if it’s any worse than the suffering they’re putting her through here._

“Right, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just so new, that’s all.”

The nurse pondered this for a moment. “Well, this is New York. We’ve got to be ahead of the times.” She shook her head. “You need to keep up. You’re not going to just be able to coast through, here. They only keep people with their wits about them. Now, stay here. I’ll be right back.” 

As her footsteps receded down the hallway, I heard Jessica mutter something. 

“What’s that, dear?”

Jessica’s wild blue eyes met with mine for a fraction of a second before darting rapidly around the ward. “Amy?” She rattled. “Is Amy here? Have you seen her?” Jessica rubbed her legs together, almost as if mimicking a cricket. I gently pulled the tattered cotton blanket over her bare limbs. “My sweet girl, where are you?”

“Who’s Amy, honey? Did something happen to her?” I asked softly. Jessica’s bottom lip quivered. 

“Father says he’s looking for Amy. Says he’ll bring her back. He promised, you know. He’s a detective, father. Greatest detective in the whole world.” 

I smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’m sure he is, Jessica. Did he find Amy?”

She stopped talking. She laid there for a while, and then slowly, so slowly, shook her head. “No.” she whispered. “No… father is dead. Amy is gone. Jessica is alone.”

“What happened?” _Come on, Liz, don’t make her suffer anymore than she already has._ My curiosity prompted me forward anyways. “How did your father die?’

“Nurses told Jessica that he committed suicide.” Jessica wailed. “They lie! Father wouldn’t leave us! He must still be looking. He will come back soon, he must... “ She returned to rubbing her legs together. It must be some sort of comforting motion for her, or maybe it generates heat. “It is alright. Father can take his time. Jessica will wait. Will wait, stay waiting.” 

I watched as she continued to repeat her last words to me, murmuring them to herself like a little mantra. Slowly, she started to drift off to sleep, though God knows how. _I couldn’t even close my eyes in a place like this, let alone rest._ As I waited for the other nurses to return, I slowly pieced together an article in my mind. The horrible melancholy of Jessica’s life and the state of the hospital would certainly create a compelling piece. _I don’t want to exploit her, of course. Perhaps I would change her name, or just omit it completely. There’s too much tragedy here to write about all of it, it would be easier to just write about one person._

After what seems like forever, the nurse finally returned. “They’re postponing it another month. Why they insist on having Freeman do it himself, I’ll never know- it just means one less bed we have at our disposal.” _More like it should be disposed of._

“He did perfect it, I suppose. Maybe the hospital just trusts him with the procedure.” 

The nurse rolled her eyes. “It can't be that hard to just wiggle a little rod around behind somebody’s tear ducts.” _Yikes._

“Did her family really die?”

“Why do you care?”

I paused. “It’s just... hard to believe so much misfortune could befall one person.” 

“Misfortune is expected for those who live without money or power.” She sniffed a little, looking down her nose at me. “Or those who ask too many questions. You’re dismissed, Nurse. You may want to visit the nurses quarters and shower on your break- you're practically laying in filth.”

I spare one last parting look at Jessica before I scurry off back to where I came from. It took me some time to find my way back down to the nurses quarters, but I somehow manage to do so without incident. I consider it a miracle. I changed back into my own clothes and dumped the uniform into a laundry shoot before I made my way out to the courtyard. Hopefully, my cab will be here soon. I had an article to write. 

***************

The Night Prior, 202X

I ran my fingertip below a line of text delicately written on the yellowed pages of the first journal. A woman’s cursive scrawl detailed her first few months in New York City, in 1928. She sounded bright, full of moxie- a real innovator working her way through a man’s world. I smiled as I drew comparisons between our personalities- I could see a lot of myself in her. 

I read over half of her diary, sipping wine and spooning birthday cake into my mouth. I felt a little guilty, reading the girl’s personal thoughts, but I figured she was long since dead, so she probably wouldn’t mind. Eventually, I felt my consciousness beginning to slip, so I tucked the book’s built in ribbon into the crook of the pages I left off on before I turned off my lamp to sleep.

_“Hello.”_

_A soft voice spoke, close enough to reach out and touch it’s owner. My eyes fluttered open, but shock shot them wide as I skittered back against the headboard of my bed._

_“Wha- who- what? What are you? What are you doing in my room?” I managed to stammer. In front of me floated a small, humanoid child with wings. Old lessons from my middle-school history classes brought to mind the word cupid, though instead of feathers this creature sported insect like wings closer to those of a dragonfly. It’s pale hair shone under the moonlight in an almost iridescent sheen, the skin closer to lavender than peach. Most of this I could have looked past, except for its four, pupil-less white eyes. “What are you?” I repeated, quieter this time._

_“Do not be afraid! I am a fairy, keeper of stories and manipulator of time. I am here to bridge the gap to your adventures!” The fairy beamed, a small child-like grin offset by too-sharp canines. It seemed genuine and kind enough, although it did not particularly help me heed it’s advice. “My name is Isabel. You have been given my journal collection.”_

_“No shit…” I whispered in awe. My lips twitched into a small smile. “That’s my name.” Had I have seen it written down, I would have of course added like a little kid that mine was spelled with two L’s and an A at the end, but of course, I had not seen it written, so I did not tell her this._

_Isabel laughed. It was a lovely sound, like wind through a sea-shell windchime. I relaxed, but only a little. “Am I dreaming?”_

_“You are.”_

_I was relaxed fully now. Of course. I wasn’t sure how my brain had crafted such an odd little thing, but between the alcohol, party and sugar I could at least make the connection. I fixed my posture, smoothed my blankets over my legs. “Okay, Isabel. Tell me about my adventures.”_

_The fairy beamed again. “I see you have taken a shine to Elizabeth’s story. Do you like danger, thrilling mysteries, romance?”_

_“Oh, absolutely, who doesn’t?”_

_“Perfect. Then this will be a wonderful place to start, for you.” She said. Her wings fluttered a little bit, making an odd buzzing noise, until she sat down on my nightstand. She ran a pudgy little hand over the worn leather journal I had been reading before I went to sleep. A trail of golden green dust was left in the wake of her palm, which slowly faded into the brown binding. “You’ll be sharing a body with Elizabeth, then. Your mind will occupy her space, though you’ll have access to her memories of course. It’d be difficult, otherwise.”_

_“What about her?”_

_The fairy cocked it’s head to the side in confusion. “What about her?”_

_“Well, will she occupy my space? Get to tour the twenty-twenties?”_

_Isabel laughed- not her wind chime giggle from before but a rolling laughter that hurts your stomach. It was almost closer to cackling. It took her a moment to get through her fit- she ended clutching her sides, knees drawn to her chest. “Oh, oh, you’re a funny one, other Isabel. ‘Will she occupy my space?’, oh!” She took a few deep breaths, calming herself. “Oh, no. No, she’s dead. You’ll be occupying her corpse, technically- she died in ‘28, at the end of that diary. Pneumonia, if I remember right. In her universe, she isn’t supposed to wake up tomorrow morning. No, she won’t be inhabiting anything.”_

_“Jesus Christ!” I recoiled, morbidly disgusted. My brain flitted to a memory of one of my favorite shows, a magical girl anime with a similar mechanic, their souls put in gems to survive, piloting bodies devoid of life. I felt nauseous. “That’s horrible!”_

_Isabel stared at me, before shrugging. “It doesn’t matter, really. Characters die all of the time. Think of it… as you giving her life a second chance. Letting her make her mark. She was far from finished with what she wanted to do.”_

_I gently took the journal from off my nightstand, flipped to the last page with Elizabeth’s writing. As I scanned the page, I caught the words ‘sick’, ‘cold’, and ‘scared’. It looked like Isabel was right. It wasn’t exactly comforting, though. “Well… what about me, then? I mean, my body. Does it just die? Do I die?”_

_“No, no, no you’ll be just fine. Time will simply move around you while you’re in another universe.” I squinted at her, confused. “I don’t know how to explain the inner workings of time travel to you, really. Just know you won’t miss anything.”_

_I just nodded. This dream was starting to go off the rails, and it was starting to make my brain hurt. “Right, well. Thanks, then. I’ll uh- definitely start my adventure tomorrow.” I rolled over onto my left side, tucked my face into my pillow. “G’night, other Isabel.”_

_“Good luck.”_

_************************************************_

January 18th, 1928

I realized as I woke up to my _very_ loud alarm clock in 1928 that I had never asked Isabel how to get back to my own time period. 

“Shit.” I muttered groggily, covering my ears with my pillow. _On the upside, you’ll be on time today,_ I thought. 

I quickly showered and readied myself for the day. I can’t help but notice how exhausted I am- I spent hours last night editing my article for today. I flung open my closet and browsed today’s outfit options; As tedious as it was wearing heels and skirts everyday, I had to admit that I loved the fashion of the late twenties. The intricate beading on some of my blouses and tea stained lace collars on the others made my heart soar with joy. I bundled up to prepare for the bitter cold outside before heading off to my bus stop. _The chief should be putting my article in the paper this morning. Hopefully it’ll actually be what I wrote, instead of a watered down version that he let another co-worker edit._

As I stood waiting for my ride, I spotted a newsie handing out his papers a little ways down the sidewalk. Checking the large park clock that marked the stop, I decided I had a minute or two to go buy a paper. 

“Paper, get ya paper! Only two cents! Sun News, Madarin Daily, New York Post! Get ‘em here!” 

I pressed two copper pennies into the boy’s ink stained hands. He grinned, showing me his missing two front teeth. He couldn’t have been more than nine years old. “Thank ya kindly, lady! Which one can I get ya?”

‘The Sun, please.” His smile was infectious, and I felt one creeping onto my face as well. 

The boy enthusiastically sifted through his stack of papers, handing me my requested brand. “Ah, that’s a good one today, Missy. I’m almost sold out of those!” His nose scrunched up as he looked at the title. “Hey missy, can ya do me a favor? What’s the headline on that one?”

I looked- and gasped. My article had made the front page- and suddenly, history hit me like a ton of bricks. I read the major headline outloud, astounded. “A Day in the Madhouse; Inside Info on the Tragic Suffering of the Patients of Metro Sanitorium by E.J Colvin” 

The newsie let out a low whistle. “Geez, no wonder those are flyin’ off the shelves. That’s one whopper of a headline!” 

I nodded, dazed. _Elizabeth Colvin… Cochran. My god, I was the Nellie Bly of this universe. Somehow, I managed to right an exsposé without going through the torture of a week plus of captivvity but- God, how had I not realized it before? The girl detective._ I gave the newsboy a quick wave and retreated to board my bus. Excitement pulsed through me. _Maybe I’ll actually get promoted out of the intern position, and I’ll actually be a real reporter now._

The Chief wasn’t in when I arrived at the office. I sat down at my desk, nervously editing a few pieces of Clarence’s to pass the time. Hours seemed to pass before the Chief finally burst into the room, his cheeks stretched into a wide grin, his face flushed red from excitement. Or maybe the wind.

“We’ve hit record sales marks today, team! Highest we’ve ever seen! We even beat out the Mandarin!” He shouted. “Elizabeth!” He pointed one round finger at me. I couldn't help but flinch a little, despite his exuberance. “You’re attending the New York Press Dinner Party tonight with me, at the Brooklyn Botanical. It starts at eight, sharp. Don’t be late.”

Color rose to my cheeks and my whole face felt hot. A chorus of disgruntled mumbling flooded my ears as my colleagues began to bitterly reject the Chiefs announcement. Mary was the first one to speak. 

“B-but Uncle Martin, you promised you’d take me to the press dinner tonight!” she protested, her bottom lip quivering. Crocodile tears pooled in the corners of her brown eyes. Phillip put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. 

Jason stepped in front of his own desk to add to the argument. “Do you really want _her_ ? One good article and she gets to go meet the press? There are plenty of us who have contributed a _lot_ more to the paper than her.”

“She has no business going.” Phillip backed. 

The Chief put up a hand. The chatter stopped. “Enough. When your articles triple our sales, I will take one of you. Until then, she’s earned this.” 

I kept my eyes downcast. Beside me, Clarence smiled and gave me a thumbs up. “Good job, Lizzie.” 

“Liz, I expect to see you tonight. Try to look pretty.” 

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from serving any snark. “Yes sir. Looking forward to it.”

The rest of the day went by in a blur. I finished a few more edits and helped another girl pick the recipes for the women's column of this week's paper. For the most part, everyone left me alone- though mostly I think it was out of anger rather than respect. I started getting ready almost two hours in advance when I arrived back at my brownstone apartment, though I still think I could have used more time. When I finished, the woman before me was even more unrecognizable than she was yesterday morning. Her hair pinned beneath a silver headband, neck draped in lengths of pearls sitting atop a one shouldered pink dress, a fur shawl draped around her elbows covering the tops of her silk gloves. She looked like something out of old Hollywood. I breathed out in wonder, turning before my reflection and admiring my work. 

When I arrived at the massive glass building that housed the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, the Chief was nowhere to be seen. Instead, two men in identical black suits stopped me, one with his hand outstretched. 

“Your invitation, Miss?” 

I froze. _Invitation- like a paper? A letter? My invitation had been verbal._ “Evening, gentlemen! My name is Elizabeth Colvin, I’m a reporter for the Sun News. I was invited to a dinner here tonight.” 

“Yes, but do you have your invitation card?” The man repeated. 

“Um-”

A man approached my side, taller than me by a good five or six inches. He looked much older than Chief. The other two men immediately gave him their full attention. “Good evening, Mr. Harris.”

Mr. Harris shook their hands. “Good evening gentlemen.” He turned to me. “Did I hear you say you were Elizabeth Colvin? As in E.J Colvin?”

“Yes sir.” I confirmed, acknowledging my given pen name. It had been the Chief's idea. He said people would be more likely to read my articles if they didn’t know I was a woman, since I refused to write any of the articles for the designated women’s column.

Mr. Harris smiled at me, a toothless but gentle grin. “Ah, Martin told me you were coming. I must admit, you’re much... younger than I expected.” He trailed off, giving me a once over before turning back to the two bouncers. “Say, do me a favor, fellas, and let this gal in for me.”

“Yes, of course Mr. Harris. My apologies. Have a lovely rest of your evening.” With that, the two men parted, giving us access to the open doors. 

“Thank you!” Mr. Harris waved his hand, and offered me his arm to escort me into the venue. Out of politeness, I took it.

We’re immediately greeted by the sweet smell of lush greenery and good food. Golden decorations topped tables crowded with New York’s press elite, chatting happily. Many people held champagne flutes brimming with sparkling wine, although I recall Prohibition would have still been in full swing. However, I had never been one to abide by the rules, so when a waiter came round and offered me a glass, I joyfully took it. Being nestled next to so many media luminaries made me feel as though my whole world was aglow. Mr. Harris gave me a soft pat on the shoulder and pointed out my colleague standing over by the champagne tower before he left me to my own devices. 

“Elizabeth!” The Chief shouted, waving me over towards him. I made my way over and greeted his company with a bright smile. “James, meet Elizabeth Colvin, the pride of the Sun News!” _Pride?_ I glanced at him to see if he had been serious. He was all bubbles and sunshine. _I had just been the bane of his existence yesterday! How quickly things change. I could get whiplash._

The new man, James, laughed. “So! The famous E.J! It’s a pleasure to meet you!” His delight is just as genuine as the Chiefs. He took my hand in both of his and gave it a warm shake. 

“Elizabeth is fine, sir.” I placed my free hand over his before he released. 

“So, James, how does it feel to lose sales to your underdog?” Both men laughed. “You’d better get used to it, and quickly! In the future, we’ll have- ah, yes?”

A waiter interrupted, abruptly tapping the Chief on the shoulder. He throws up a finger to gesture he would return in a moment before following the waiter over towards another table. Alone with whom I could only assume was one of our competitors, I fidgeted awkwardly at a lack of words. 

“Can I get you another glass, Miss Colvin? It’s not every day we get to sample something so fine.” James picked up one of the opened bottles off the table and refilled the flute I had tipped towards him. He then filled his own and took a long sip. “I read your article several times, you know. Your flair has left me deeply impressed- intriguing and dramatic, but not exploitative. A talented woman such as yourself should be given ample opportunities. Room to grow, excel, you know?” He fished a business card out of his chest pocket. “Here, my card. I don’t want to steal you from the Sun, of course, but if you’re looking for a pay raise-”

We continued exchanging pleasantries, mulling over the sensationalism of todays news and where we went to college. It takes a good twenty minutes for the Chief to return.

“Hey, Lizzie, come with me a moment. I need to talk to you.” 

“Sure, absolutely.” I waved goodbye to our company before following my coworker to an empty table off to the side of the venue. “What’s up?”

The Chief stared at the table solemnly. His finger drummed against the table cloth, and he was dreadful quiet. Then he spoke. “Lizzie, you’re fired.”

My fingers slipped off of the stem of my glass and it fell to the ground, shattering on impact. “What?” I whispered, mouth agape.

“You heard me. Please don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Wait, no, I don’t understand. You were literally _just_ praising me for my article and bragging about our sales, how can you be firing me?” I stammered. My head hurt.

His face was soft, fatherly. He sighed. “Come on. Don’t make this difficult. You can come by tomorrow and get your things.” He stood to leave, but I impulsively grabbed onto his shirt sleeve. 

“Look, I don’t know what I did, but please, whatever it is, I can fix it! What happened!?”

“Take your hand off me, Lizzie. Don’t cause a scene and make this more embarrassing for yourself.” Any trace of softness has now gone, and he pulled himself out of my grasp. My hand fell limply to my side. The panic in my high pitched pleas had caught the attention of only one or two people, but the man was right- I was going to start causing problems if I kept wailing. I stepped back, surrendering to the situation unfolding before me. The Chief returned to James after adjusting his shirt and wiping his forehead, leaving me trembling and alone. _Well, fuck you then._ I thought. _Fuck you. I’m going home._ I picked up my shawl and a small plate of cake squares from the dinner table and strutted out of the gardens.

****

The streets were horrifically cold tonight. I had finished my little cubes of angel and devil’s food cake within two minutes of leaving the gardens- I was still carrying the little glass plate with me, clasped in both hands in front of me. I can tell that it’s late- probably nine, nine thirty- but the streets are still lit with the neon glow of diner signs and amber street lights. I marveled at the city stretching out in front of me. _Tonight wasn’t completely shit,_ I thought. _A little bit shit, sure, but not all of it. I got to wear this pretty dress. And I got to eat fancy food, and drink champagne. Not to mention, I got two other business cards besides James’- I don’t need the Sun. Positives, Liz._ I stopped walking for a moment to slip off my heels. _God, your 2020 therapy is showing._

In the absence of the click of my heels against the pavement, I became acutely aware of a set of footsteps following a length behind me. I tried to take in my surroundings, looking around to see if any windows could give me a reflection of the person behind me. I kept my pace, finally catching a glimpse of a man about two yards behind me. His head was titled down, the brim of his hat covering his eyes and obsuring his face in shadows. His hands rested in his pockets. My heart rocketed into my throat, and I felt anxiety closing in on my chest. I sped up. _It could just be another person walking home?_ I made a pathetic attempt to try and comfort myself. Any doubts I had went out the window, however, when the man lengthened his strides to match my gait. 

Fear shooting through my body, I threw the glass plate I had stolen behind me as hard as I could. As I heard the china break, I broke out into a full sprint. Behind me, I heard the man curse and the sounds of his shoes began to grow louder. _The streets are empty, what the hell, why the hell is the street empty, it's not even ten o’clock where_ **_is_ ** _everyone!?_ Up ahead, I could spot a dark figure leaning against a building, a block or two ahead. _If I can just make it to them, maybe this man will disappear._

There was a whistling sound accompanied by a quick **bang** ! The unmistakable sound of a gun firing. _Heaven help me, I think he’s shooting at me! What is this, a mugger? A-_ I shook my head, choking back bile as I considered what else a man might want from me. A second shot fired, hitting a shop’s wooden sign beside me. I screamed. The second figure was closer now- I could make out that he was lighting a cigarette, his Zippo sparkling. 

“Sir!” I called frantically. He was only a little bit away. His face turned towards my cry as he took a drag of his cigarette. 

“Sir,” I repeated, finally an arms length away. “Sir, please, you have to help me- there’s a man, I think he has a gun and he’s been following me for almost three blocks, and- ah?” 

The man had straightened up, flicked his cigarette into the street- and took my shoes from me. “There you are, _mio topolina_. Where have you been?” A familiar voice crooned. I squinted, taking a better look at his face. My heart fluttered as I recognized the man from the hospital yesterday.

“Oh, you- um. Ah.” I realized the game he was playing at. I took the arm he offered to me graciously. “I thought you’d left me, _quierdo_ . I was frightened.” The footsteps behind us had dissipated- whoever they were, they had thought better of messing with this man. We walked together about a block before the man opened the door to a ‘28 Falcon Knight. I gently ran a hand along its forest green paint in wonder. _I’ve never seen a vintage car that wasn’t beat to hell._

“Get in.” I looked quizzically at my newfound savior. “Are your feet not tired, nurse?” He asked, one eyebrow cocked. I blushed furiously _\- so he did remember me._

I didn’t argue, hoping I wasn’t going out of the frying pan and into the fire. I climbed into the passenger seat on the Falcon and put my shoes into my lap. The man sat in the drivers’ seat and turned over the engine and we took off. About four or five minutes into the drive, the man finally spoke again. 

“ _Quierdo_ is Spanish.”

I turned to look at him. “I know that.”

“I speak Italian. _Topolina_ is Italian.” 

I blinked a few times. “So? You understood me, didn’t you? They’re both Latin based. Not to mention, I took Spanish for four years, and I only took Italian for one, so I’m sure you can guess which one I retained more of.” The man didn’t respond. “Well, if you thought Spanish, you were correct. The only things I remember in Italian are cat, sugar, and Santa Claus, which I personally think says a lot about who I am as a person.”

The man broke his brooding silence with laughter. He threw his head back against the seat, chuckling like a schoolboy. “ _Dios mio,in cosa mi sono cacciato?_ ” he paused after he collected himself a little more. “What _is_ your name?”

“Elizabeth Colvin.” I smiled proudly and offered him a hand to shake. 

He instead brought the hand to his lips, kissing the silk across the back of my knuckles. “Vittorio Puzo. Well met.” _Italian, indeed,_ I thought. I couldn’t help but blush a little at the sudden intimacy, though part of me figured it was just a part of the time periods’ social etiquette. 

“I wanted to thank you, Mr. Puzo.” I started, drawing my hand back. “I think that mugger might have killed me, had you not been there.”

“That wasn’t a mugger.” 

“What?”

Vittorio didn’t respond to my question. “Where am I dropping you off, Miss Colvin?” 

“Wh- oh, you can drop me off near the Balto statue in Central Park.” I looked out the window as we began to cross over the Brooklyn Bridge. We still had a good twenty minutes to go. 

“Haven’t you already established it’s dangerous to walk alone out there?” 

“Well I can’t tell you exactly where I live- maybe you’re in cahoots with that other guy and out to kill me, or something.” Vittorio just looked at me, unamused. “I’m kidding. I’ll settle for the intersection of Park Ave and East 67th.” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Why is your sister in that hospital?”

“She isn’t.” I cast Vittorio a glare. _He knows damn well that I saw that girl today. Even if it’s not his sister, she’s definitely his cousin, or some sort of family._ He withered a little under my gaze. “Really, she isn’t. I took her home today, on your suggestion.”

“Wait, really?”

“I read your article. I couldn’t- I couldn’t leave her in a place like that. _Dio mi perdoni,_ I can’t even fathom how I left her there in the first place. She’s only fifteen- _una bambina._ I didn’t know.” His voice cracked on his last sentence. Genuine pain bled into his words. He coughed, trying to cover up his break in facade. “She has- she has these fits, where she can’t breathe, she shakes, she’s terrified of everything and everyone until it passes. We can’t figure out what causes them. They seem to have gotten worse as she gets older, and ever since our parents passed-”

“She has a panic disorder.” I interrupted. “Or PTSD, possibly. It depends on if there _is_ no cause or she just doesn’t _know_ the cause.”

“P...TSD? Panic Disorder? I don’t know these terms. Are they diseases?”

 _Shit. I forgot._ “Um- sorry, those are… slang terms. Have you heard of shell shock?”

Vittorio nodded. “My father had it, after the Great War.” 

“Yes, right! Oh- I’m sorry, that’s awful I just- right. So, Stella could have shell shock.”

“Stella has not been to war.” 

“Right, but if she saw something scary, I mean really, _really_ scary- it could give her shell shock anyways.” Vittorio considered this for a while. 

“That may be it, then. This PTSD.” 

“Do you know what she saw? That might actually help you-”

“We’re here, Miss Colvin.” _So we were._ I watched Vittorio’s face for a moment, trying to discern if I had upset him. His face was set like stone, unreadable.

“Thank you, again, Mr. Puzo.” I opened the door and got out of the car. After I shut it, I bent to put my elbows on the sill of the opened window. “I’m sorry, if I offended you.”

The exquisite Italian man faced me, his lips pulled into a soft smile. “You did nothing of the sort. Sleep well, Miss Colvin. May we meet again.” 

I straightened myself up and watched the man drive off into the night. My heart fluttered inside my chest, and I felt heat rising to my cheeks. I felt like I knew everything and nothing about Mr. Puzo after that forty minute car ride- but I decided right then that I was going to learn more, no matter what.

********************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fratello- brother  
> tesoro- term of endearment, literally 'treasure'  
> mio topolina- another term of endearment, 'little mouse'  
> quierdo- 'dear', Spanish  
> Dios mio, in cosa mi sono cacciato?- "My God, what have I gotten myself into?"  
> dio mi perdoni- "God forgive me"  
> una bambina- a baby, a baby girl specifically


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter than the first chapter, but hopefully still good. I am always excited to hear your feedback.

January 19th, 1928

A bitter wind stung my face as I hurried down 24th street, pulling my scarf up to cover my nose. The crowded streets roared with the sounds of the afternoon lunch crowd, despite the weather. I gazed up at the skyscraper in front of me- this was my seventh newspaper I would try to join, today. Word must have gotten around quickly- it seemed like every company had suddenly placed me on a DNI list; Even James, the head of the Mandarin Daily who had been so keen on getting me to transfer, now had ‘a full staff with no room for change’. I was baffled- all I had done was write an article at my editors behest, and now I was scrambling to find a job to pay my forty-five dollar rent.*  _ Sure, perhaps it had been controversial- if I was correct in thinking that Nellie Bly didn’t exist in this universe, then no one had ever exposed a sanatorium like this. People must have been outraged- but would that really have triggered for my dismissal? There must have been something else. _

The morning hadn’t been much kinder, either. Jason had been waiting with a party popper when I had arrived a little after nine to collect my typewriter. The man had actually celebrated my dismissal. 

_ “Lookey here, folks! This is what happens when a skirt gets too big for her britches!”  _ He had said, a sadistic grin painted across his cheeks.  _ “Hey Lizzie, now that you’ve got some free time away from licking the Chief boots, why don’t you let me take you out to dinner? I’ll show you just what being a lady is supposed to be about.” _

Bile rose to my throat as I processed what he was implying. Since I had been fired, I found no good reason to hold my tongue around him. I reeled around to face the gloating bastard and gave him the bird.  _ “Eat glass, Jason.”  _

I had been promptly escorted from my old building out onto the sidewalk. From there, I had started my (fruitless) search for a new job. 

The frosted door of the New York Global swung shut behind me as I stepped into their headquarter’s lobby. The wide room was draped in browns and greens, art-deco style patterns adorning the wallpaper and furniture. The paper's logo, a globe with an arrow through North America topped with an eagle, was embossed in the middle of the tile floor in a metallic copper. As I marveled at the decor, a woman cleared her throat from a secretarial desk near the elevators.

“Can I help you?”

“Um, yes, hi, good afternoon.” I started after I crossed over to her. The woman's hair was twisted into a tight bun, almost making her face look as if it was stretched back by her roots. Dark brown eyes that seemed closer to black scrutinized me, and she tapped her nails impatiently on the desk. “Is there anyone I could speak to about working here?”

“Do you have an appointment?” 

“No, I don’t. I was hoping to set one up.”

The woman pulled a small binder out from the corner of her desk and opened it to a calendar heavily burdened with notes. She ran one emerald green nail down a row- next week- and then flipped the page again, and then one more time. A glint of light caught my eye as she turned each page; her name tag kept catching the chandeliers reflection.  _ She looks like a Patricia, _ I thought, reading the little metal plate.

“I could get you an interview in March?” she offered with a polite smile. “We’re very busy as of late, and lots of people are looking for jobs. We’re short on editors, you see, so the bosses are having to do the interviews  _ and _ the editing.”

_ Score!  _ “Oh, that’s actually great, see I graduated with honors from IU for journalism, I’m looking for an editorial position.”

Patricia’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ of surprise. “That’s wonderful!” She bent in, as if she was going to let me in on a little secret, and whispered, “You know what, let me go see if Mr. Stephens has a second. What’s your name?” 

“Colvin, Elizabeth Colvin.” 

“Alright, Miss Colvin, why don’t you take a seat right there on that little couch and I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail!” 

And so I sat. Patricia was gone for a good fifteen minutes before she returned; I was beginning to wonder if she would return at all, after the day I had been having. Excited, I had to remind myself not to run up to her desk, managing to maintain a brisk walk. “So?”

Patricia’s cheeks flushed pink, her eyes dropping to look at her calendar. “Unfortunately, Miss Colvin, we don’t have any positions available for someone of your… caliber.” 

“What? But you just said-”

“I was mistaken. I’m sorry miss, but I’ll have to ask you to leave now. Without an appointment you have no business here.”

“Well then can I set up an appointment? I don’t mind waiting until March.” I did, in fact, mind very much, but I was becoming increasingly desperate as doors and even windows seemed to continually slam in my face. “What about an internship?”

Patricia just shook her head. “I have no available spots for appointments, miss, so if you’ll please excuse yourself so I can get back to my work, I would greatly appreciate it. Have a nice day.”

I stared, dumbfounded.  _ How much emotional whiplash can one suffer?  _ I didn’t see any use in arguing any further. Once again, whatever the man behind the curtain had said was enough to shut down any opportunities here. “Have a nice day.”

This went on for about three more stops. Two had no openings available, and the last one didn’t even let me in the building. It was stunning. I had never in my life seen such brazen avoidance. As the sun began to droop, I decided it was about time to call it quits for the evening. I would try 25th street tomorrow, much to my own dismay, to at least see if I could find a temporary position to cover my bills. 

When I returned home to my apartment, I barely had the time to slip my heeled boots off before someone knocked on my door. 

“Miss Colvin?”

I opened my door to a graying woman in her sixties. “Mrs. Johanson!” I stepped away from my entrance, inviting my landlord into my home. “Are you here to collect the rent?”

Mrs. Johanson smiled. “Ever-sharp, missy. Though I would be remiss if I didn’t stay and chat a moment- you’re my favorite tenant, you know.” 

“I would say the same, though I think you’re the only landlord I’ve ever had.” I giggled. As Mrs. Johanson shut my door for me, I quickly pulled my envelope of cash out from between the pages of  _ Jane Eyre _ . “Forty-five dollars exactly.”

My landlord carefully counted the dollar bills inside of the envelope before tucking it securely in her purse. “Thank you kindly! So- how is the job searching?”

“Terrible.” I groaned. “I can’t get a soul to give me the time of day.”

Mrs. Johanson laughed, a warm and rich sound. “Oh, you poor dear. A dish like you shouldn’t be working so hard anyways- what you need to do is find you a good man and let him take care of you… you know, I have this neighbor who’s single, if you wanted me to put in a good word for you? Of course, he’s a little older and he’s got two kids from a previous relationship, but he’s very well-to-do. Works over at the Ford plant.”

“Ugh. No offense Mrs. Johanson, but I think I’d rather drink bleach.” 

The elderly woman gasped. “Now you take that back, missy. I won’t hear that sort of talk from you.”

_ Yeah, I guess that’s the wrong sense of humor for this era.  _ “Sorry, ma’am. Just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mrs. Johanson pursed her lips together before finally shaking her head, as if to clear any unfavorable images. “You kids and your words. I’ll come back in a week to collect your rent again.”

“Wait, a week? I thought it was monthly!”

“Well, sure, for people with livelihoods. With no income, how do I know you’re not going to bail out on me? You need to maintain trust.

_ With no income, I can’t pay four times the money.  _ I thought miserably.  _ I can barely pay the rent now. _ “Mrs. Johanson, please, be reasonable. I’ve never missed a payment. You know me.”

Mrs. Johanson sniffed. “I am being reasonable. I even gave you a suggestion, though you weren’t particularly keen on it.” 

“Just- can you please give me a day or two? I promise, I’m not trying to freeload or anything like that. Please?”

My landlord mulled on this. “Well- if you have a job by next week, I won’t collect your rent then. Do we have an agreement?”

“Yes ma’am, thank you so much! I won’t let you down.”  _ At least, I sure hope not, anyways. _

Mrs. Johanson’s cheeks flushed with color. “Oh, now, none of that dear. I have some other business to attend to, so I’ll be taking my leave.” We exchanged our goodbyes as she made her way back out the door. Before she left, she turned over her shoulder and added, “I almost forgot, your parents called earlier. Wanted to see how you’re doing… you should probably give them a ring back soon.”

“Will do, ma’am. Thank you!”

Before I retired for the night, I went out to the payphone outside of the apartment to call my parents back. Though these streets were well lit and it wasn’t even six o’clock yet, I still felt stiff with paranoia from my experiences last night.  _ Mr. Puzo said that it wasn’t a mugger- could that mean that they were targeting me specifically? Do they know where I live? _ The thoughts sent shivers down my spine. As I lied to my mother about how great things were going, I couldn’t help but keep scouring the area around the payphone again and again for any suspicious movements. The call was short- I could barely pay attention to what my parents were saying, much less hold a decent conversation. After they extended the offer to come home, I politely told them I was tired and hung up the phone. To be fair, I really  _ was  _ tired; My day had been packed with walking into repeated disappointments, which could exhaust even the most energetic person. As I crawled into bed, I groaned as I realized tomorrow was probably going to have the exact same upsets in store. 

**************

January 20th, 1928

Today started on 25th street, and I was already off to a bad start. 25th might as well have been named ‘tabloid central’; any reputable journalist wouldn’t be caught prowling here for a job. Seedy magazines and papers built around sensationalism and lies had their headquarters here- and unless you had been turned away from the rest of the respectable publishers, you avoided it. Unfortunately, that was exactly what had happened to me- so the bottom of the barrel sounded just fine.

The first few papers hadn’t heard of me, which was a plus. A few actually offered me jobs… in sorting house-keeping tips to publish, or in advertising. One man was even bold enough to offer me a place as his personal secretary- however when I asked what sort of work I would be doing, he said ‘All of it could be completed on my knees’. The rest of the papers weren’t keen on hiring females at all, especially not as reporters. 

By lunch time, I was starting to consider calling it quits. Hungry, cold, and tired of walking from door to door in heels, I decided I could only stand one or two more rejections before I jumped into the East River. 

The second to last building I had decided to try had gone under- the inside was vacant and the doors were chained shut. The last building was one over. A dark brick structure only two stories high, it barely looked like an office. Staring up at the faded sign, I read the printed letters. 

**_THE GOTHAM TIMES_ ** .

I racked my memories to see if I had ever even heard of this paper before, but I came up empty. Something told me that their sales must have been minimal, if any...  _ was I sure I even wanted to try this place? Can they even pay me? _

“You can go in, if you’d like. We don’t bite… at least, not very hard.”

A man with slicked back dirty-blond hair smiles at me from the entryway of the office building. His tweed suit is tailored, but not too flashy, highlighting the spotted navy blue bow tie he wore around his neck. His smile was almost blinding, and full of charisma. 

“Who says I wanna go in?” I retorted. His grin didn’t falter; instead, he approached, hand outstretched. 

“You just have this expression, like you’re looking for something.” He said, noting my outfit. “Like you’re ready for a job interview, or a business meeting. I’m Edmund Davis; I’m a reporter here at The Gotham Times.”

“Elizabeth Colvin.” I shook his extended hand, surprised at how warm they were.  _ I can even feel the heat through my gloves.  _ “A reporter, huh? Are you hiring, by any chance?”

“Desperately.” He groaned. “We’ve been hurting for people for months. Do you have a minute? Our Editor-in-Chief is in office now, I can get you in to see him.”

“Is it a paid job?” The words slipped out before I had a chance to stop them. “With your sales-I just mean, I can’t afford an internship or anything, not without any compensation.”

“And let you starve out there?” Davis laughed. The accidental insult had rolled off of him easily, if he had even registered it at all. “Of course it’s a paid job. Come on, come inside. It’s freezing out here.” 

I caved. I couldn’t tell whether it was the cold air or his charming personality that got me to go, but it didn’t really matter. Davis led me up the flight of stairs to a cream painted hallway with three doors- offices, I assumed. The plaque next to the first door read ‘George Kane, Editor-in-Chief’, it’s bronze surface glowing in the yellow light. Davis knocked on the door, and turned the handle without even waiting for a response.

“Mr. Kane? I have someone here I think you’ll want to meet.”

“Bring them in, then.” Another man’s voice spoke. 

Davis opened the door a little wider, allowing me to enter the office behind him. Golden yellow drapes framed a window that poured sunlight atop a dark lacquered desk covered in papers. Behind the desk, in a brown leather chair sat a man who I decided must be Mr. Kane. His thin face was veiled slightly with smoke that puffed from a pipe he held tightly between his lips, the moisture fogging up the bottom of his glasses. His upper lip hid behind a thick, black mustache that curled up at the edges, like one of those you might see on an old barber shop quartet singer. His grey-streaked hair was slicked back, similar to Davis’s, though his gel must have loosened its hold a little as strands fell freely against his forehead. 

“Have you come to give us a lead?” Mr. Kane asked. 

“No sir. Not yet, anyways.” I looked nervously back at Davis, who winked at me playfully, possibly in reassurance. “I’d like to be a reporter for you.” 

Before he could reply, I hastily introduced myself. “My name is Elizabeth Colvin. I graduated from Imperial University’s School of Journalism, and up until a few days ago, I was an intern at The Sun News.” Mr. Kane looked at me expectantly, so I continued. “I… I lost my job due to some uproar about an article I wrote after I infiltrated the Metropolitan Hospital. Besides that, I’m skilled in every aspect of reporting- I know how to conduct interviews, write, edit, I can do commentaries-”

Mr. Kane blew out a puff of smoke and waved his hand for me to stop. “I read your article, Mrs. Colvin. It was an incredible piece of journalism.” I blushed. “Sometimes, it’s easier to just shoot the messenger than actually fix the problem at hand. I’m assuming they let you go because the hospital threatened to sue.”

I nodded silently, waiting for him to continue. I realized that it was just the two of us, now- Davis must have slipped out while I was listing my credentials.

“Do you know anything about our newspaper, Ms. Colvin?”

I shook my head, embarrassed.

“That’s alright. There are a lot of papers in New York. That said- we pride ourselves on being a different kind of newspaper than the lot. Tell me, Ms. Colvin, what principles should a reporter hold most dear?”

I pondered his question for a moment.  _ This seems more like a pop quiz than an interview,  _ I thought. “I think… veracity. Ethically seeking the truth and getting the public the news that they need is far more important than fabricating a good story. Reporting should be just the facts, without personal bias or political sway.”

Mr. Kane’s eyes twinkled with delight as he listened to my answer. “Fantastic. You’re absolutely right. Another question. Should the private affairs of public figures be published for entertainment?”

_ Depends on the year. In my time, that’s almost all the news is; What celebrity relationship is falling apart, what the mayor of so-and-so is wearing, how many burgers some singer ate at a diner and how they should be on a diet. It’s hard to think of a time that that  _ **_wouldn’t_ ** _ be the case. However… _ “I don’t think so. I believe it’s a distraction from the things that are really important, and it’s dehumanizing. Famous people, they’re still people, and they deserve to have their privacy. As long as they aren’t hurting anyone, anyways.”

Mr. Kane nods. “Excellent. All good points. Last question, then. How far would you go to reach the truth? Ethically speaking, how far is too far?”

“Too far?” I repeated. “I… I don’t know. I don’t think we should purposefully hurt people, ever. There’s no reason to disregard our morals for the sake of the news. I mean, there are ethical ways to find the truth. It’s just… we can only choose our own intentions. We don’t get to decide the consequences.” 

“There is no right answer to that last question. I think it’s important to know people's values, and I’ve never had anyone answer the same way. That being said… I think you have the sort of attitude we’re looking for here. I can only hope that you prove me right.”

I clasped my gloved hands together in front of my chest. “Do you mean… does that mean you’re willing to hire me?”

“Yes, Ms. Colvin. You can start Monday. The office opens at eight thirty.”

I can barely contain my excitement. “Thank you so much, oh my goodness.”

“I think you’ll thrive here, if you stick to those core values you just told me. If your answers are really how you feel… you have good character. We’d be thrilled to have you. I have some things to attend to, if you’ll excuse me- I’ll see you first thing Monday morning.”

“Yes sir, thank you. Have a good rest of your afternoon.” I gushed before dismissing myself. Outside of the office, Davis was leaning with his back against the wall. 

“Well?” He asked. I did a little excited dance, my face scrunched with joy. Davis caught my drift and beamed. “Hey, congratulations! I knew you’d fit right in. I could just feel it. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.” Davis took my hand and began to pull me towards another door. 

Although I was nervous, I didn’t put up much resistance. His enthusiasm was intoxicating. “Already?” 

Davis chuckled. “Of course, you’ve got to know who’s going out to celebrate with us tonight!”

“Celebrate!?” I exclaimed. “I barely know you all!”

“That’s the point of the introductions, silly.” Davis retorted. The office we proceeded to barge into was relatively small- there were only six desks, surrounded by metal filing cabinets and bookshelves. Five sets of eyes fell on us as we barged into the room. 

“Is this really everyone?” I whispered.

“It is indeed! Team, I’d like to introduce our newest member, Ms. Elizabeth Colvin!” Davis shouted, disregarding my slapping of his arm in embarrassment.  _ He’s so loud! _ I groaned internally.

A chorus of greetings and warm welcomes echoed across the room. A man and a woman approached wearing cheerful grins. The man spoke first; He was wide set with a big belly and had a jolly sort of aura about him. As cliche as it may sound, he reminded me of younger Santa Claus. His round nose hung over a thick mustache that matched his sandy brown hair. He looked about thirty years old. 

“Welcome aboard, Ms. Colvin!” He squeaked, his voice far higher than I had been prepared for. My name is Floyd White, and this is my wife, Li Jing.” He gestured to the woman beside him. Her short black hair framed a gentle face. She had fine wrinkles beside her hooded eyes told that she laughed often, enough to crease smile lines into her warm toned skin. She waved at the mention of her name. 

“It’s nice to meet you!” Li Jing replied.

“You can just call me White, though. Floyd was my father.” White laughed.

I couldn't help but tease him a little. “Wouldn’t your father have been White, too?”

Davis, White and Li Jing laughed. “Yes, I suppose he would have been, Ms. Colvin.”

“Please, Elizabeth is fine.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Or shorter. It’s a mouthful of a name.”

The other three came to greet me in turns. Another woman with frizzy and wild strawberry blonde curls and an angular nose took my one hand in both of hers. “Oh, I’m so excited to have another gal in our midst. It’s just been me and Li Jing for ages! My name’s Beatrice, though most of the team calls me Beatty.” The name suited her. 

The two men came last, a tall gentlemen with a gray buzz cut who looked like a high school football coach and another who would probably be a radioman in his future life. His resemblance to Casey Kasem was incredible. 

“Nice to meet you Elizabeth.” The first man gave my shoulder a firm pat. He stood almost a head and a half taller than me, and I had to stretch my neck to meet his eyes. “I’m Thomas Kemp.”

“Oscar Richmond.” The Casey Kasem look alike added.  _ Good god, he even has a host’s cadence! _ I thought, mesmerized. I’d have to suggest it to him, sometime, as radio began to gain traction.

We chatted for a little while, all of us. I hear a little bit about the departments and how the crew is only the seven of us- we share the labor between ourselves, sometimes taking multiple roles. They seemed tight-knit, and not a single one of them looked as if they had a cruel bone in their body. I was thrilled to be here, in every way.

When the clock hit four, Mr. Kane came into the office to bid us all a good evening. I had assumed he would leave last, being the Chief, but it seemed that Davis had a spare key to the office as well. 

“He’s forgotten the key on his desk more times than I can count, the poor fella.” Davis chuckled to himself as he closed up the various filing cabinets lining the walls. “The building came with a set, so he gave me the other as a safety measure.” 

I nodded, watching everyone pack up for the day. “Do you all really leave at four?”

“On Fridays we do. Most other days it's at five. Sometimes we stay late just to finish up our work, but no one will make you of course. Sometimes you just get caught up, you know?”

“Oh, absolutely I do.” 

“I figured. You seem like an all-in type of girl.” He paused. “Say, have you ever been to a speak-easy, Elizabeth?”

“You mean like a bar?” I asked. “Cause I’ve been to plenty of those.” 

Davis squinted at me. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

Davis started counting on his fingers, doing math in his head. I took a moment to try and remember what year prohibition started.  _ 1920, dipshit. You would’ve been fifteen. Bars have been shut down for almost eight years.  _ I quickly formulated a lie.

“I, um, traveled for my twenty-first birthday. Saved up to see Paris.”

Davis lit up at the mention of the French capital. “Did you really? That’s swell. I’ve never been but I sure would love to go.”

“How old are you?” I interrupted.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a gentleman's age?” Davis teased. I took a finger and jabbed him sharply in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“I should be telling  _ you _ that.” 

Davis rubbed his shoulder and pouted. “Fine, fine. I’ll turn twenty-six in March. Satisfied?” I nodded my approval and he continued. “Anyways, the reason I ask is that Beatty, White, Li Jing and I were all going to go out tonight. I figured, what better way to get you better acquainted than to come out and tip a few with us.”

_ After your week, you deserve some fun, Liz.  _ I thought to myself. Although it was a little sudden, I couldn't help but feel excited. “Sure, I’m in. Sounds like fun.” 

“Fantastic!” He dug around in his pocket a moment before pulling out a little leather bound address book and a stub of a pencil. “Here, if you’ll jot your address down, I can pick you up tonight.”

I scribbled down the address of my apartment in his little book under the ‘C’ tab. I noticed that the pages I flipped through were teeming with addresses all over New York.  _ He sure gets around, I guess.  _ A little pang went through my heart, though I couldn’t quite place the emotion tethered to it. I handed the book and pencil back and he slipped it back into his coat pocket. “What time should I expect you?”

“I’ll pick you up at nine.”

**

Later that evening

I tried on every dress I owned before I could settle on a suitable outfit for the evening. I ended up settling on a midnight blue number with teal and gold appliques along the front. The matching headband sported real peacock feathers, the colors vibrant against my lackluster hair. I turned this way and that in front of the mirror, hoping it would impress my new friends without making me look too overdressed. I was thinking about changing one last time when I heard a car horn blare outside. I parted the curtains to see a bright red Mercedes Benz idling next to the sidewalk before my building.  _ I must have chosen the right place if he can afford that on a reporter’s salary.  _ I pulled a black fur lined shawl over my shoulders before I ran out to greet my company.

Li Jing waved to me from the back seat and propped open the door for me. The two men had already taken the front seats, with Davis on the drivers side, so the three of us girls took the back. I was relieved to see that I had dressed appropriately; Li JIng wore a beautiful gold and blue qipao, with glass flowers tucked into her rolled hair. Beside her, Beatty wore a heavily beaded mauve dress and was dripping with pearls. Her headpiece in particular was just spectacular- it hung over her curls almost like a hair net, scalloped just above her brow. My heart fluttered.  _ What an absolutely stunning pair,  _ I marveled.

“Let’s drift, kids!” Davis shouted as we took off into the night. 

Beatty turned to me, her eyes shining under the passing streetlights. “So where are you from!” She shouted over the roar of the car.

“Illinois!” I shouted back.

Li Jing’s nose scrunched in disgust. “I can see why you moved!” 

I laughed. “Yeah, I’d rather be jobless in New York than working the farm back home.”

“You’re not jobless anymore, sugar!” Beatty grinned. “Gosh, I’m so excited, I can’t even begin to tell you. I think I might have already told you. I forget.”

“You and me both, sister.” I giggled. “I walk into rooms to look for things that I’m still holding. It’s a problem.”

White turned around, his elbow resting atop the leather bench that divided us. “Aren’t you two college graduates?” 

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean much.” 

“Three.” Li Jing interjected. “I went to Antioch, Floyd.”

White flushed in embarrassment. “Right, sorry my darling. I know.”

“I graduated top of my class, I’ll have you know.” Beatty crossed her arms, dejected. “I just misplace my mind sometimes. You know, my mother said I wouldn’t be fit for marriage if I went to school. Said it would rot my brain and turn me into an old maid.” 

“Well, the jokes on her then, isn’t it?” I said, stretching my and over to touch hers. “I think you turned out just wonderful. The bee’s knees, yeah?”

Beatty grinned, color rising to her cheeks. “Oh, keep your lines.” 

Davis drove us along the streets of West Village into Greenwich. After a few minutes, White tapped him on the shoulder, and pointed to a small grey building sandwiched between two red brick apartments. Davis nodded, and put the car into park. White popped open his door and came round to my side, offering me a hand to help me step out of the vehicle. I took it and tried my best to look graceful as I climbed out of the vehicle. 

“Is Davis not coming?” I asked, hesitant.

Li Jing followed me out, taking her husband's hand and smoothing her dress. “He has to park the car,  _ shǎguā. _ ” She chided. I sheepishly tucked a stray hair behind my ear.  _ Right, of course. This place is probably super secret- you can’t just park in front of it. Especially not with this huge flashy thing Davis has. _

“Oh, be nice. She’s probably never been to one of these before, have you, Lizzie?” Beatty patted my shoulder comfortingly. Davis gave us a quick wave before pulling off down the street. “C’mon, let’s get inside before someone sees us.”

“Do you think we’ll see her today?” Li Jing whispered as we walked across a small courtyard to an unmarked door. 

“See who?” I asked.

“Only the greatest poet ever.” Beatty swooned. “Edna St. Vincent Millay frequents here, apparently. She’s a real tomato.”

Li Jing leaned in and whispered in my ear. “She’s a sapphist.” I blinked at her.

“Beatty?” I whispered back. 

Li Jing paused. “Maybe. She’s certainly partial to gals… but I meant Edna.”

“I’m right here, you know.” Beatty sighed. She knocked a little rhythm on the metal door, though I didn’t recognize it as any song. A beanpole of a man opened the door just a sliver, and White talked to him in a hushed tone. The door shut again and there was the sound of a chain rattling before it opened fully and we were welcomed inside. 

“You know  _ The Great Gatsby _ ?” White asked me as we made our way up a slim staircase. 

_ Yeah, I had to read it for tenth grade English,  _ I thought. “Sure do.”

“Oh, good, good, you’re a reader. So, the writer and his wife come here all the time. They always sit at table twenty-six, without fail.” White giggled like a schoolgirl. “Usually we go to a different club, but I convinced Davis to come here tonight. I think I’d just die if I met them.”

“That would be crazy.” I murmured.  _ I know people that would cut off their left hand to meet those two.  _

At the top of the stairs, Beatty pulled open a set of thick velvet curtains. Light spilled into the dim stairwell, and as my eyes adjusted, I couldn’t help but gasp. The walls were the first thing I noticed; I could barely see them. Portraits hung frame to frame, covering the cream colored paint. Crammed beneath them in the sliver of free space above the benches were book jackets, some signed by what I assumed were their respective authors. A wood and green marble lined fireplace stood unlit, and stationed where the logs would have sat was instead a brass sculpture of a bulldog. The place was bumping; almost every table was filled, and there was music playing over the chattering people. I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye, and turned to see Davis waving at us from a booth nestled against the far wall. 

“How did you get here before us!” I gasped as I slid into the booth beside him. Beatty took a seat on his other side. I caught a glimpse of Li Jing and White at the bar, talking to a pretty, light haired woman. 

Davis did a little set of jazz hands. “Magic!” He cooed. Beatty smacked his shoulder at the same time as I gave him a small shove. “Hey, woah! Watch the suit, ladies! Sheesh, you girls are violent… there’s two entrances. I took the front one on 86th street.” 

“Of course you did.” Beatty sighed. “Always ahead of the game, you. Did you at least put in for drinks?”

Davis waved to a waiter carrying a tray of teacups. “That’ll be them now! Thank you very much, sir.” He smiled as the waiter placed the cups in the center of the table. 

“You got us… tea?” I asked, mesmerized by the mismatched porcelain. Beatty threw her head back in delighted laughter. 

“Oh, you’re just precious, Lizzie.” She cried, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “You can’t just serve cocktails in glasses, you know. It’s less suspicious this way.” She picked up a cup full of what looked like eggnog and took a sip. “Mm. Brandy Alexander. You know me too well, Davis.” 

Davis grinned. “We’ve only been drinking together for what, two years? Of course I know your liquor of choice.” He pushed two of the teacups to the empty space next to Beatty that I assumed the Whites would fill in a little while, and then brought the remaining two to us. “You, on the other hand, I’m shooting blind with, so I got two of my favorites. You can have whichever you like.”

I scrutinized the two liquids, though I couldn’t pin what exactly they were. “What if I don’t like either?” I asked.

“Then I’ll buy you whatever you want, sweetheart.”

_ Oh, wow.  _ I blushed and took the cup closest to me and slammed it down. The alcohol burned a little, and there was a distinct taste of anise left in my mouth after I swallowed.  _ My nerves are going to make this a wild night, I think.  _ I placed the cup back down and saw Li Jing and White standing next to our table, mouths agape. 

“Sazerac it is then.” Davis murmured, seemingly impressed.

“Please don’t, that was disgusting.” 

The whole table laughed. Li Jing excitedly told us that the woman they had been speaking to was none other than Zelda Fitzgerald, and she had gotten her to sign her husband’s pocket square for her. The other Fitzgerald had apparently come down with a cold that week, so she was alone for the evening, but Li Jing told us she didn’t mind in the slightest.

“I think Zelda must have written most of  _ The Beautiful and Damned _ anyways,” she told us. “It’s far too sentimental to be a man’s work.” Every part of me wanted to tell her how right she was.

The night went on without any hitches. I drank several more teacup cocktails, though the only one that I could really stand was a sidecar. Most of the alcohol tasted like moonshine, and smelled like rubbing alcohol. I danced until my feet hurt; Beatty showed me a watered down version of the foxtrot, proudly flaunting her rouged knees. She was an audacious woman, fun and full of life. She was a New York native, she told me, and wanted to travel to California to see Hollywood one day. She didn’t want to be an actress or anything; “I want to love one instead!” she laughed.

Li Jing waltzed with me, patiently answering all my questions about her life as a first generation Chinese-American. I was surprised to learn that names were not changed at Ellis Island nearly as much as I had thought as a child; her parents had come with their full names intact. They ran a grocery in the Lower East Side now, though she had grown up in Pennsylvania. Her father worked the steel mills, and she had gone to college in Ohio for journalism. She got a job in New York, where she met her future husband. They had then saved up money to move her parents closer. She worked there sometimes, on the weekends.

My last dance of the night had been Davis. I was thoroughly tipsy by then, and I think he had to guide our steps a little more than I would have liked, but it was sweet. He smelled of aftershave and lavender, and he surprisingly told me nothing about himself. He just danced with me until we were out of breath, laughing and heaving for air on the benches around the floor. I decided right then and there that I loved these people, and I was going to do my very best to make them proud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> qipao- also known as a cheongsam. A high-necked and close fitting dress, slit up the sides. Popularized in the 20's and 30's by Chinese socialites, though it has been around much longer. Typically worn with ankle length pants.  
> 傻瓜 (shǎ guā)- literal translation is 'silly melon', though it is used as a term of endearment, like 'dummy' or 'silly' in English.


	3. Chapter 3

January 23rd, 1928

I arrived at the office fifteen minutes early on Monday morning. I was a little disappointed to see that I wasn’t the first one there; Mr. Kane opened our main office door right in front of me. He had smiled warmly and bid me a good morning before instructing me to come by his office half past nine. He then retreated to his office, leaving me to set up the spare desk to my liking. In the middle of the barren wood sat two objects; a small coffee cup, and a name plaque. On closer inspection, the cup bore an image of Beatrix Potter’s Mother Mouse sweeping the stoop in front of her house. Tucked in the cup was a note.

_Elizabeth,_

_I get everyone their own coffee cup when they start here, to make sure everyone feels at home. This little mouse reminded me of you, and I couldn’t help but buy it for you._

_Enjoy a cuppa Joe on me,_

_Davis_

I smiled softly and tucked the note into my skirt pocket. While it seemed more like something a manager would do, it was a very unique touch and I couldn’t help but love the little cup. Looking over to the table beside the door that held our coffee pitcher, I noticed a small rack of seven other mugs, with spare hooks for a few more. Not a single one of the cups matched, and I felt like I could tell which one belonged to which coworker.

One after another, my colleagues poured through the door in various states of alertness. Beatty flounced in, Thomas and Oscar simply walked, Li Jing watched her husband shuffle in with his eyes half open. She looked as though she had gotten up the earliest out of all of us, but she didn’t look tired in the least. I realized only after everyone had filed in that Davis was the only one without a desk. _Maybe he has his own office?_ I wondered. _That doesn’t really make much sense, unless maybe he’s just been here the longest. Or maybe he just does mostly field work. Or maybe I took his desk...I hope that isn’t the case._

By the time I was finished organizing my space, it was time to go see Mr. Kane. I walked to his office and found it open; he welcomed me in and gestured for me to take a seat. The plush red chairs looked very comfortable, so I did as he asked. 

“So, Elizabeth. Do you have any questions before we get started?” Mr. Kane asked, lighting his pipe.

I shook my head. “No, sir. Davis explained a lot when I came for my interview. I think I should be able to pick up on the little things on my own well enough.”

“Alright. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything. Now, about why I called you in here; I have a few assignments for you.”

 _Already? Wow. This is already way better than The Sun._ “That’s great! What can I do for you?”

“We’re planning to change things up a little bit to expand our influence. We’ve always been a little behind the times, so we’re trying to catch up some- especially to appeal to the younger crowd. Radio is gaining traction, and the twenty-somethings aren’t reading newspapers. So for right now, your big focus is going to be on an interview with Charlotte Harris next week. 

“Charlotte Harris?” I repeated. My words found my tongue much quicker today; I didn’t have to think very hard to remember who she was. “The female aviator that flew across the ocean?” Her face floats to the forefront of my mind- _We went to the same university. Two years my senior, she’s a legend in their department of Mechanical Engineering. I look up to her, as do most women my age. A regular Amelia Earheart._

“Yes, that’s her.” Mr. Kane confirmed.

“And you want me to conduct her interview?” 

Kane took another hit of his pipe. “As you know, female reporters are hard to come by. It’ll be a new experience for Miss Harris to have a woman lead the interview- and it will probably be more comfortable for her, as well.” He tapped a little bit of ash into a crystal tray on his desk. “The two of you have a lot in common. You both graduated from the same school, correct?”

I nodded.

“Good. That will make for a good conversation starter. Now, there’s still some time before the interview, so I would use this time to gather some notes.”

“Yes sir.”

Kane nodded, pleased. He continued with instructions. “Today, I’d like you to interview the head of construction for Sky Tower. Once it’s completed, the tower will be the tallest building in the Nelson District.”

“Forgive me, sir, but… you want me to run an article about the building’s _height_? Isn’t that a bit… bland?”

He chuckled. “Quick, aren’t you? Don’t ever be afraid to speak your mind. You reporters are the future of our paper. You’re right- it’s not the sort of thing I like to run, however, it is a topic of interest currently, and we want to have as many readers as possible. So, nothing over the top, please. A simple feature will do.”

“Roger that.”

“Perfect. You have a camera don’t you, Colvin? Try and snap a few shots while you’re out as well.”

I promised to do my best and took my leave. Back in the main office, things were starting to liven up. Davis was leaning over Thomas’s desk, pointing out a few things on a rough copy of an article with the dull end of a pencil. Li Jing was designing the papers layout, articles spread over both her and her husband’s desk. I couldn’t spot Oscar or Beatty, but I was sure they were just as busy elsewhere. I grabbed my notepad and my favorite pen, as well as my camera, and prepared to leave for Sky Tower. 

“Elizabeth!”

I turned to see Davis walking towards me. “Yes?”

“Chief assigned you the Sky Tower interview, right?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Hm. You’re not going to wear that, are you?”

I looked down at my outfit and pouted. My palmetto green skirt-suit was pressed and in place. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Well, nothing, it’s just that the building isn’t finished yet. Imagine a gorgeous young lady like yourself walking around a construction site in this outfit…” he looked specifically at my strapped heels. “You’ll probably snap your ankle, and certainly get hounded by the working men.” 

I knew he was right, but I wasn’t happy about it. “I’ll try to change into something less flattering, then.” I shook my head. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“Alrighty. Good luck then, little mouse.” He smiled.

 _Little mouse?_ “Oh! Thank you! For the coffee cup, I mean.” I added before he went back to working with Thomas. He didn’t turn around to reply, but he did rub the palm of his hand against the nape of his neck. _Is that a good thing?_

Beatty ended up loaning me a set of men’s clothing small enough to fit me. ‘I always keep a few sets on hand, for Li Jing and myself. I find that we get taken a little more seriously dressed like boys, unfortunately.’ Paired with a set of work boots I kept from my days on the farm, I looked as OSHA ready as a girl could be.

I took a taxi to the construction site. Sky Tower was a very suitable name for the building I stood beneath. I couldn’t even see the top; the concrete structure’s peak hid behind the fluffy winter clouds. I fixed my glasses and scarf before stepping over the rope separating the street from the construction site. I barely made it a quarter of the way to the tower’s entrance before a man in a too-soft looking black hard-hat began yelling at me. 

“Hey, stop right there! Who let you in here? Can’t you see this is a work-zone?”

I groaned and waited for him to approach me. “I’m a reporter for the Gotham Times. I have an interview scheduled today with the site leader.”

As soon as the man saw my face, his whole demeanor changed. “A reporter, huh? Aren’t you a little too pretty for that, honey?” 

_Gag. Looks like my disguise wasn’t even close to androgyny._

Another man whistled to my left. “Look at the ass on her.”

“Hey, baby, you want to interview us instead? I can give you a good bit to chomp at!” There was a round of deep laughter. I felt my blood boil in anger and disgust. _And I thought my time was bad,_ I thought. _This is disgraceful. I don’t know how women survived. I would’ve killed a man by the time I hit twenty-three if I lived in this era._ I shot them a death glare and hastened my steps into the building. 

The inside was mostly barren, aside from building materials and a few lunch pails. A lean-to of an office sat near the rear of the first floor, where the figure of a slim man in a fedora stood against a wall. When I walked into the little space, I saw he was mapping blueprints on a cork board. 

I flipped through the notes I had taken in the taxi and then cleared my throat. “Mr. Nino Ricci?” The man glanced over his shoulder and then turned completely as I took off my hat. “Hello. My name’s Elizabeth Colvin, from the Gotham Times.”

Mr. Ricci blinked in shock. “What? A girl? Your editor didn’t say you’d be a woman.”

“Is that a problem, sir?”

Nino waved a hand quickly, embarrassed. “No, no, _mi dispiace._ We can start now, if you’re ready.” He took a seat on an upturned bucket after positioning the only chair in the room for me to sit in. I sat, and flipped to the next page in my notes. _I feel like Steve with his handy-notebook. Where’s my red crayon?_

“Of course. What can you tell me about Sky Tower?”

“I would like you to focus on the height of the building.” I nodded for Nino to continue. “Standing at the remarkable height of one hundred and seventy-seven meters, the Sky Tower will be the tallest building in this district when it’s finished!”

I feigned a cough to suppress the laugh that bubbled out of my mouth. _That’s tall? The tallest building in the world in my time is eight hundred and twenty nine meters tall, just because it can be. It’s in India._ I tried to remember that this was a big deal for these people, and settled myself. “Got it. I’ll make sure-”

“Get a hold of your crew, Nino. They’re causing too much of a raucous.”

“ _Che diavolo,_ Alvaro! Knock first!”

Alvaro grunted. “Sorry, yeah I’ll make sure to make a grander entrance into your little homeless shelter next time. What do you want me to knock on, your head, _stupido_?” For added disrespect, he spat onto the ground next to Nino’s foot. 

Visibly angry, Mr. Ricci tried to keep a level head. “We can talk about the workers later. I need to finish this interview first.”

The brash man finally seemed to notice me. He stared at me in confusion, as if sizing me up, before his eyes finally settled on my camera. The scowl on his face disappeared, and was replaced with a broad smile. 

“Ay, a lady reporter, huh? Please excuse my uh… interruption. What’re you doin’ here? Did Nino invite you?”

I held my chin up and tried to look as professional as possible. “Yes, he did. I’m here to gather material on my article about this project.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s the big deal about this dump, eh?”

“Well, it’s… it’s a hundred and seventy-seven meters tall, and it’s en route to being the tallest building-”

“What? A hundred and seventy-seven? Did you lie to her, Nino?” Alvaro doesn’t even let me finish speaking. “I’m certain, _assolutamente certo,_ that Sky Tower is only one hundred and sixty-six meters tall. The tallest building in the district is the one I’m building- the Vosse building, at a hundred and seventy meters.”

I glance nervously between the two men. _This is becoming a pissing contest that I don’t want to be dragged into._

“And you would be right, _amico_ , but not for long. You see once we install the roof next week, it _will_ be a hundred and seventy-seven.” Nino corrected him. While he called Alvaro a friend, he spit the word out as if it were acid.

“Hmf. Then we will build a clock tower on top of the Vosse, and then it will stand at a hundred and eighty! How about that?” Alvaro suddenly turned to me. “Miss Reporter, I’m sure this man is wasting your time. Would you please tell him that you’re only looking to feature the tallest building in your piece?”

“ _Mamma Maria, Alvaro, per favore stai zitto?_ I don’t have time for this. The roof is in the blueprints. You may as well say you’re adding ten clock towers. It doesn’t matter.” Nino sighed. “If you’d like, Miss Colvin, I can take you to the build site for the roof. It’s only a few floors up.”

“I’d appreciate that.” I quipped, happy to get out of the cramped room. 

Much to my dismay, Alvaro tags along. The materials for the roof lay in piles on the last finished floor as the men built upwards on steel girders. A quick chat with a few of the workers told me that Nino was indeed telling the truth. Across the street, I could see the makings of Vosse. The blueprints that Alvaro had pulled from his pocket, while extensive, showed no plans for a clock tower, though this did not surprise me. The wind whipped my scarf into my face and the sound of tools on metal created a deafening roar. I yelled to Nino as loud as I could over the noise.

“Shall we continue this interview back downstairs, sir!”

“Sure, no problem!” He shouted back, and we descended back to the bowels from whence we came. As I reached a landing a few floors down, Alvaro sneered and grabbed me by the arm. Nino doubled back and reached his hand into his coat pocket, his eyes alert and his expression alarmed.

“Tell me, girl, how much are they paying you?” Alvaro growled. “I can pay you double what those assholes are giving you to feature Vosse as the tallest building in the district.”

I wrenched my arm from his grasp and stared daggers into the man. “Do not undermine my professional integrity, Mr. Alvaro. My words are not a commodity to be bought and sold.”

Alvaro’s booming laughter echoed up the concrete stairs. “You reporters flock to money like flies to rotten meat. Why preach your ethics now? I could pay you enough that you wouldn’t have to report anything after this, ever again. _Niente._ ” 

“I’d rather work until I die than step foot near your rotten building.” I spat.

Alvaro stood dumbfounded. His hand that had previously grabbed me now curled into a fist, his eyes full of rage.

“This won’t end well for you, bitch.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me, you absolute neanderthal. What, do you think you’re tough? Does punching a woman make you feel like a big man?” I hissed, drawing my camera back. If this man was going to fight me, I was at least going to smash my lens into his eyes first. 

“ _Abbastanza, Alvaro, lei è solo una bambina-”_

Before Nino could continue pleading on my behalf, another figure crowned at the top of the next flight of stairs. Alvaro froze, and his hand immediately relaxed as his face grew pallid with fear. 

“Nino, I can forgive the worker disputes, but if you can’t even handle a little thing like this? _Che tipo di uomo sei, eh_?”

Nino gulped. “Boss, you’re here…”

“Mr. P-Puzo, sir.”

I turned to see my Italian savior from the week prior with a hand planted firmly on Ricci’s shoulder. _Saved again._ “I’m sorry you got caught up in all of this, Miss Colvin.” He gestured to me with a soft smile. I used the chance to put some distance between myself and Alvaro, positioning myself at his side. He tilted his head down closer to Nino’s ear. “The roof of the Sky Tower need not be so tall, Nino. We can let the Vosse building be the tallest in the district, if they wish.”

“But, Boss-” Nino winced as Mr. Puzo’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Right, Boss. You know best.”

Mr. Puzo nodded, pleased. “Alvaro, please, keep your workers in check… or I’ll have to do it for you, on behalf of Mr. Juliano.”

Whoever this Juliano man is, he must be a big deal, because Alvaro looks as if he’s about to vomit. The threat sticks, and all he can do is mutter a strained ‘yes, sir’.

“Please escort Miss Colvin off of the worksite, Nino.”

“Yes, Boss.”

*******

January 26th, 1928

After having Mr. Kane vet my article on the two towers and receiving a glowing review, I set my sights on knocking out my revisions for publication. I can’t help but swell with pride knowing he accepted my first draft; My last job hated my writing style. My nose buried in my notes, I barely noticed the boy that approached my desk this morning.

“Hiya, Miss!”

I looked up to see a short, young man with golden curls and a face full of freckles in front of me. He looked about sixteen or so, with bright eyes and a youthful grin. I set down my pen and tilted.

“And who might you be?”

“My name’s Matthew White, but you can call me White.”

I cocked my head in confusion. “White? Isn’t that-”

“Floyd’s my uncle! He got me this job here, as an intern. I’m here to ask if you needed me to run any errands for you.” I shook my head.

“No, I’m just fine, but thank you. I don’t know if I can call both of you White, though. I’ll get confused.”

The boy’s brow furrowed as he pondered something. “Well, what would you like to call me?”

“Hmm. Do you have any nicknames? What about Matty?”

“That’ll do, Miss!” Matty beamed. He glanced at my nameplate and corrected himself. “ Miss Elizabeth. Well, I have to get going, but I’ll seeya later!” 

After a quick wave, the boy bounded off to ask Thomas if he needed anything. I opened my typewriter and got ready to retype my article. _Man, I didn’t think I would miss computers this much,_ I thought as I fed paper into my machine. 

I spent almost four hours writing and rewriting my article. I ended up focusing on the height comparison and the fight between the two companies behind the construction sites. I wasn’t sure exactly what kind of companies Mr. Puzo and Mr. Juliano ran, but I had some ideas. I purposefully left them both out of my feature to keep it from coming off as seedy. 

As the rest of my colleagues began packing up for the evening, Mr. Kane motioned for me to come to his office. I complied, and he closed the door behind me.

“Is something wrong, sir?” I asked. 

“No, nothing of the sort.” Mr. Kane leaned poured himself a glass a scotch from a crystal decanter and offered it to me. When I declined, he took a sip from it and then leaned against his bookcase. “I just wanted to ask how you were doing here. It’s only been a few days, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

I sighed in relief. My shaking hands slowed and I clutched my skirt as I bade myself to relax. “Oh, alright. I’m doing just wonderful, sir, thank you. Everyone is very friendly. I feel right at home.”

“Good, good. I’m glad to hear it.” He took another sip of the amber liquid. A thought crossed my mind ( _where did he get such nice liquor?_ ), but I brushed it away pretty easily. “Any problems?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

“Alright. I did call you in here for another reason; don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.” He soothed, noticing my suddenly stiff posture. “Ms. Harris gave me a call this afternoon to ask if we could postpone her interview for a few days. I wanted to ask if you had anything you wanted to pursue in the meantime.”

My first thought was of the hospital- I hadn’t been there in almost two weeks, and I had no idea how the people there were faring. However, I had only been here a little while, and it seemed reckless to try and investigate the same thing that got me fired. I racked my brain for ideas, but a sharp knock on the door interrupted my train of thought. 

“Come in, Davis.” Mr. Kane said without looking away from me.

Davis opened the door and sat down in the chair opposite me. “I don’t know how you do that,” he sighed. 

“You knock the same way every time, Davis. It’s not difficult. What did you need?” Mr. Kane chuckled and poured Davis a glass of scotch. He didn’t ask first, but Davis graciously accepted it anyways. 

“I’d like to take Friday off to attend Daisy’s film premiere, _Morning Glory_.”

Mr. Kane waved a hand dismissively. “That’s fine.”

“Daisy? You mean Daisy Collins, the Hollywood starlet?” I gawked. _Did Davis really just know celebrities like that?_ “Isn’t this the first full talkie ever produced?”

Davis looked impressed. “Indeed it is, Elizabeth. I’m surprised you know about the goings-on of the film industry. You seem like more of a novel girl.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “Don’t be rude.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll quit teasing you.” He finished off his drink and politely handed the glass back to Mr. Kane. Kane moved to refill it, but Davis shook his head. 

“Are you… well acquainted with Ms. Collins?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Is someone jealous?” He laughed at my scowling face. “No, we’re just friends. I knew her back when she was just a model for _Vogue_.” 

“Could you set up an interview with her, for me?” I asked, glancing between Davis and Mr. Kane.

“I’m fine with that. George, thoughts?”

Mr. Kane thought for a moment, then sighed. “I’m not typically fond of celebrity spotlights, but I’ll make an exception for you. Try to focus more on the evolving technology instead of whatever gossip she drags up.”

“Thank you, sir! I won’t disappoint you.” 

Mr. Kane smiled softly and refilled his cup. “Never you mind. The two of you are dismissed. I’m closing up the office.” 

Davis stood and shook Mr. Kane’s hand, and then we both excused ourselves. As we put on our coats and hats, Davis offered to drive me home. I hesitated, but upon remembering my run-in with Alvaro and the mugger, I decided to accept. I followed him to a yellow Rolls Royce.

“How many cars do you even _have_ , Davis?” I asked as he helped me into the passenger's seat.

“Too many,” he responded. We took off into traffic and began to slowly make our way towards my street. “Most of them are my parents, though.”

I nodded. We were almost crawling with how slow the roads were moving. _This is going to be a long ride._ “You and Mr. Kane seem pretty close,” I started a conversation to fill the silence. 

“You’re overthinking it. He’s just laid back, is all. You’ll fall into the same sort of relationship with him once you’ve been here a few years.” He paused. “You do plan on staying with us for a while, right?” 

“I mean, I sure hope so. I really like it here.” 

“Why did you join our paper?”

I looked at him, confused. “You told me you needed people, Davis. I needed a job. That’s usually how that works.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean- well, why did you leave your last job, again?”

“I wrote an article about the poor conditions in the Metropolitan Hospital because my boss told me to. After we published it, they fired me without any explanation.” I sighed.

“I read that article. It was well written. I didn’t realize it was yours.”

“I used a pen name on my last paper. My editor didn’t think people would read it if they knew I was a woman.”

Davis frowned. “Well that’s bullshit.” He shook his head, obviously disappointed in my last employers. “They sent you into a bad job and then made you take the fall for it. Not to mention, firing the poor sap who wrote the article and scrubbing it from the paper sure doesn’t make your nose look clean. That hospital has some power behind it. They’re probably the reason you got canned.”

“You think so?” I asked. _Genuinely, I think as long as it wasn’t truly my fault, I might not be so scared with how I handle myself at this job._ “I was really scared I did something really wrong.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

I took a pause to look outside my window. We hadn’t moved very much, maybe only a few streets.

“Davis?”

“Mm?”

“Why did you become a reporter?”

Davis smiled softly. “Would you believe it was my dream?”

“No way.” I giggled. Reporting wasn’t a money-maker of a job. I only made about fifty cents an hour, and I couldn’t imagine Davis was making too much more. “You didn’t want to be some big shot business man?”

He shook his head. “Not in the slightest. That’s what my dad was, and I barely ever saw him. No. I used to run around as a kid and pretend to shoot photos and give reports on the things my mother was doing around the house. I wanted to make a difference, somewhere, to someone, the way they did in the papers.” 

I nodded quietly. I felt the same way, pretty much. Back home, in my time, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Here, I felt like I had a purpose. 

“I think you should go back to the hospital.”

“What?” I asked, startled. 

“Mr. Kane won’t fire you for seeking the truth. It’s what he values most. Even if it gets the paper in a little hot water, I think he’d want you to investigate it if it's something you’re truly passionate about.”

“Will you help me?” 

Davis stopped at a red light and faced me. His eyes were quizzical, but his expression was gentle. I wasn’t sure why I had asked; maybe I just didn’t want to go it alone. I was about to take it back when Davis spoke. “Yeah. Of course. We’ll do it together.”

I felt a little spark of something, and then it was gone, snapping away with the change of the traffic light. We were quiet the rest of the ride home, but it didn’t feel awkward or empty. Despite the cold outside, I felt warm all the way through.

Once we arrived at the apartment, Davis gave me a pat on the shoulder and I moved to get out of the car. I glanced up to my second story window and froze. My curtains, which I always kept open to give light to the plants I kept in my room, were drawn shut. A chill ran down my spine.

“Elizabeth?” Davis asked, hesitantly.

“Something’s wrong,” I whispered. 

Davis didn’t ask any questions; he just killed the engine and got out. I tentatively climbed up my steps and pushed on my front door. It swung inward without any resistance- the lock had obviously been picked. Davis went into the apartment ahead of me, leaving me standing on the stoop for a minute or so before I heard his voice ring out from the second floor. 

“It’s empty, Liz. There’s no one here.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. I started to take off my heels when Davis's face appeared at the head of the stairs. “I’d keep those on. There’s broken glass on the floor.” Looking down, I saw he was right. One of my plants lay smashed across the hardwood, dirt and roots scattered everywhere. Carefully, I crept around the shards of porcelain that had made up one of my favorite pots and followed Davis’s voice up to where my bedroom was. 

The room was ransacked. Papers were strewn across my small bed, my clothes had been pulled from my closet, and anything not nailed down was turned over or broken. I bent down to pick up a slip that had been torn at the seams, rubbing the silky fabric between my fingers as tears threatened to spill down my cheeks.

“I’m going to go call the police. Stay here.” Davis murmured, gently making his way around me to go use the payphone across the street. I nodded, still struck speechless.

 _Who would do this? What were they even looking for?_ From what I could see, nothing was missing- although they were thrown from the laquered box that kept them, the few pieces of jewelry I had were still sitting on my vanity. My money envelope was still tucked within the pages of _Jane Eyre_. Upon opening it, I was surprised to see it still had the same number of twenty dollar bills in it that had been there yesterday. I numbly started to put the things that weren’t ruined back where they belonged, running through possible suspects in my head. When Davis returned, he sat down in my vanity chair and took in the damage. 

“The police said they would send someone out to take a look at things.” He took a moment to set a few of my cosmetics and perfumes back upright for me. “Maybe you should stay at my place until they say it’s safe.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Davis.” I muttered, shifting through the notes that had been tossed over my mattress. 

Davis blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I mean- I wouldn’t. You could have the place to yourself. I have other places I could stay. Or at least, let me get you a hotel room.”

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. The police will be here in a little bit. Besides, whatever they were looking for, I don’t have it, so I doubt they’ll come back.” I thought for a moment, and then added, “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“What if you were the thing they were looking for?” He asked.

 _Why would anybody be looking for me? I haven’t done anything wrong._ “Probably not. It’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, for that premier.” I chuckled darkly. “If I don’t show up, then you can worry about if I’m dead or not.”

“Liz! C’mon, that’s not funny.” Davis whined. “Besides, what are you planning to wear? The floor dress or the ripped nightgown?” 

Embarrassment turned my cheeks a deep pink. I picked the slip back up and shoved it into my closet, slamming the wooden doors shut. “I’ll work something out.” I muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

“At least let me take you shopping tomorrow. I can pick you up in the morning, and we can get you something nice for the movie.” 

_Persistent, aren’t you,_ I thought. I relented to his pleas with a deep sigh. “Alright. Is eleven o’clock okay?”

“That’s perfect.” He stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be fine, Davis. Go home. Thank you.” 

I watched him get into his car and leave, my heart beating a mile a minute. I hated inconveniencing people, and I found it incredibly hard to ask people for help. _I think I would have felt safer if he’d stayed, but that’s not super kosher in this era… I don’t think they’ll come back, but what if I’m wrong? Who would do this to begin with? The fucker broke my plant..._

I waited almost two hours before I tried phoning the police again. When I got the department on the line, the operator sounded irritated that I was calling about my apartment since Davis had already called once. Apparently, since there wasn’t anyone on the scene and nothing had been taken, they weren’t in any rush to take a look. She told me that if I was really worried about it, they could come by the day after tomorrow, but it ‘sounded like I had things under control on my own’. _Looks like the police are useless no matter what time period, huh._ I told them not to bother. I decided I would have to hire a locksmith to fix my front door or something, but that sounded like a problem for tomorrow. Eventually, against my better judgment, I fell asleep on the love seat in my living room. Hopefully, tomorrow would be a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mi dispiace- 'I'm sorry'  
> Che diavolo- 'what the hell'  
> assolutamente certo- 'absolutely certain'  
> favore stai zitto- 'will you please shut up'  
> niente- nothing  
> Abbastanza, Alvaro, lei è solo una bambina- 'stop it, she's just a little girl'  
> Che tipo di uomo sei?- 'what kind of man are you?'


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter in part one before I split into the three separate romance options (Charlotte, Davis and Vittorio). They'll each be posted in their own section, each with their own stories. They will not be interconnected. I will try to keep up with each of them evenly, though feel free to comment which you would prefer to see first.

January 27th, 1928

“Davis, please, I’ve tried on eight dresses on this rack alone. How many more do I need to try?” I groaned. We had been shopping for almost two hours at this point, and I had made no headway in finding a dress that pleased Davis’s expensive tastes.

Davis, who payed no head to my complaining, pulled another dress out and held it up, turning it in the light. He frowned before putting it back where he found it. “As many as it takes to find one that fits the occasion, little mouse.” 

Pouting, I wandered away from him to another rack. Saks Fifth Avenue was bigger than I had expected- I thought everything must have been small in the twenties, but I was very wrong. There were more clothes in here than I had ever seen, and most of them had price tags with four digits  _ before _ the decimal. I wouldn't even touch those ones for fear that just my skin would dirty them, somehow. I walked even further away from the exquisite evening gowns where we had started to find a few more ‘everyday’ style dresses. If I was going to spend a good chunk of change, I figured it should at least be on an outfit I could wear more than once. A reasonably priced white dress with a bit of beading caught my eye, and I brought it back for Davis to see. “What about this one? I have shoes at home that would match it.”

Davis squinted at the dress in distaste. “No, that’s way too boring. I’m thinking something like this one. It would be beautiful on you.” He held up a gold silk dress draped with white organza, detailed with silver embroidery and hundreds of seed beads. 

“Good Lord, Davis. That has to be worth more than eight months of my rent.”

Davis checked the folds of the dress and shrugged. “I didn’t see a price tag on it. Just humor me, and try it on? If you hate it, we’ll just get the green one you liked earlier.” 

I gingerly took the gown from Davis’s hands and nodded.  _ The problem isn’t that I hate it, it’s that I like it and I can’t afford it.  _ I politely asked a saleswoman to help me with a changing room, to which she happily obliged; I had had the same girl helping us all day, and she was thrilled to be a part of our escapade. 

“People aren’t usually so nice, you know,” she had cooed to me as she helped me try on a few of the first dresses of the afternoon. “And you’re just so pretty, it’s like playing dress-up, but with a life-sized china doll.” 

The girl held my hand as I stepped into the gown. I slipped the straps over my shoulders and shivered. The soft fabric felt cool against my skin; I’d never worn anything this luxurious before. The girl’s fingers quickly did up the buttons on the back of the dress before stepping back to look at her handiwork. 

“Oh, Miss… you look just stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

I blushed and nervously adjusted the skirt. I was delighted to see that the front layer of organza was translucent; my bare legs were visible up to the middle of thighs. Every time I moved, the glass beading caught the light and they twinkled like stars. I walked out of the changing room to ask what Davis thought. 

He was talking to another sales attendant about something when I cleared my throat. He thanked the attendant and turned to look at me. He stood speechless for a moment before he managed to choke out a sentence.

“You look magnificent.”

“You think so?” I feigned self-consciousness, doing a spin in place for him to see the dress in full. His ears were tinted pink with blood as he tried to keep a modest gaze. 

“I do. Go on, go take it off so we can take it home.”

“Take it home? How much is it? I still have to-”

Davis shook his head. “It’s already paid for.”

“What!?” I gasped. “Davis, no, please let me at least pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it a gift for keeping me company tonight.”

“I can’t just let you pay for things, we barely know each other.” I protested.

Davis cocked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “So? C’mon Liz, if I truly had ulterior motives, I wouldn’t have bought you something so cheap.”

Flustered, I stormed back into changing room.  _ Cheap?  _ The lovely girl from earlier came back to help me undress, and I was grateful for her steady hands.  _ I can’t tell if he’s trying to keep me from feeling guilty, or if he’s honestly just that loaded. Is this truly nothing to him? I don’t think I even want to know how much this costs.  _

I nervously asked the saleswoman to bag up the dress for me, and she takes it away with nothing but a smile. With my own money, I picked up a pin to put in my hair, and the Davis took me back home to let me get ready for the movie. Had I read into it as any more than a work assignment, I would have thought I was being taken on a wonderful date. As I did my makeup, I thought about the sorts of excursions I had gone on with men in my time; this job easily surpassed all of them in extravagance. My coworker had payed for my dress, would drive me to the venue here shortly, and then drive me home again at the end of the night. Not a single date that I had ever been on had done all three of those, especially not unprompted. 

I finished my hair and makeup relatively quickly. A swift look through my closet proved that I didn’t own a single suitable coat to wear over my gown, so I decided I would just go without. When I met Davis back in the car, he inspected me for anything out of place.

“You’re going to freeze, Liz.” 

“Oh, I’ll be fine. A h- a real girl never gets cold.” I laughed, catching myself before I said something too stupid. “Besides, we’ll be inside the theater for most of the night, won’t we?”

Davis dragged his hands down his face in exasperation. “What am I going to do with you, huh?” He reached into the back seat of the Benz and placed a thick fur coat in my lap. “Here. You can borrow one of my mothers.” 

I ran my hand over the soft fur, a little hurt. It felt real. “You don’t have to take me, you know. I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Davis didn’t say anything; he just put the car in drive and started off towards the movie theater. We rode in silence until we arrived at the red carpet where a chauffeur was waiting to take Davis’s keys. Before he got out of the car, though, he turned to me and put a hand on my cheek. 

“You could never embarrass me, little mouse. Having you by my side is the least shameful thing I could think of. Okay?”

I nodded, my heart fluttering in my chest. “Okay.”

“Good. Just stay close to me, smile, and I’ll handle the rest.”

The theater was massive. Referred to as a ‘movie palace’, the place was lavish beyond my wildest dreams. Marble floors, large glass mirrors and gilded staircases would have me liken the place to Versailles in France. It seemed too fancy for just watching movies. The crowd was full of well-dressed entertainment moguls; although I was dressed to match, I felt out of place. One wrong move would somehow out me as a nervous country girl playing pretend. Davis, however, walked like he owned the place. I wish I could say he looked comfortable with the ritzy environment, but more than anything, he just seemed to be putting on a front out of obligation. I had decided that his parents must have money- that was how he managed to have so many connections while still working as a reporter with people like me. As we milled around in the lobby as we waited for seating to begin, chatting idly with the other guests. 

“Ey, Edmund! What took you so long!”

A man about Davis’s height with olive toned skin and slicked black hair approached us, arms outstretched. He pulled Davis into an overtly-masculine hug with a lot of back patting as I watched, uncomfortable.  _ That has to be satire, _ I thought to myself.  _ Just hug each other like normal people. _ The man gave me a once over and grinned at Davis.

“A new girl already, Eddie?” He whistled low, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What are you, British? Did you get yourself a Duchess this time?”

Davis’s jaw twitched, though his voice stayed steady. “She’s my colleague, Kerry. Miss Colvin, Kerry. Kerry, Miss Colvin”

I stretched a hand out to shake his in greeting. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Kerry did not return the gesture, instead grimaced at my open palm. I took the hint and rested my hand back on top of Davis’s forearm. “What were you thinking?” He hissed, completely ignoring me. “What part of you thought it was smart to bring a colleague to Daisy’s premiere? Listen, you’re free to woo whatever dame you please, but some commonplace skirt? She’s going to get torn apart, and you know it.”

“Hold your tongue, Kerry. Miss Colvin is here for an interview with Daisy; nothing more, nothing less.” Davis snapped.

“Whatever you say, Eddie. She ain’t half as fine as Daisy, and I imagine she’s not close to being rich either. You can do better. She’s still carrying a torch for you, you know.”

“I think you’ve overstayed your welcome, Kerry.” 

Kerry glowered at Davis for a moment, before his face relaxed into a nonchalant grin. “Sure, no problem. It’s none of my business, anyways. I’ll take my leave- that’s one catfight I don’t want to get caught up in. Hope your kitten has claws, kid.” With that, he dismissed himself. Davis exhaled in irritated relief.

“What was  _ that _ about?” I asked in a hushed voice. Davis just shook his head, his attention directed at the next figure coming our way.

“Don’t say anything, okay? I can handle this.” 

I raised my eyebrows to silently say, ‘ _ Can you?’ _ , but did as I was asked. A woman I recognized instantly was making a b-line straight for Davis. Daisy Collins, the famous Hollywood starlet, stood in front of us; she looked absolutely radiant. Her deep red hair was waved lay in gelled waves to the side of her round face, and her bright blue eyes were framed with heavy kohl liner. Her floor length black evening gown was the textbook definition of classy. Kerry was right; I did not hold a candle to this woman.

“Eddie, baby, you’re late. I haven’t seen you in ages!” She whined. Her voice was high, melodic, and a little grating.

“Congratulations, Daisy.” Davis said, formally. 

Pain flickering across Daisy’s pretty face. “Is that all you have to say to me? I… who is she?” The starlet finally took notice of my presence, looking me up and down like I was a snake about to bite her. 

“My colleague, Miss Colvin. Speaking of which, I’d like to ask you a favor.” Davis explained. 

Daisy relaxed a little, though not much.”Colleague? You mean that second-rate news paper is still alive?” 

Davis laughed. They seemed to be very well acquainted with each other, though the tension reminded me vividly of plenty of scenarios I had encountered in my own life.  _ Oh, my god. The must be exes.  _ “Daisy, be nice.”

“Fine, your first rate newspaper- if all the other newspapers took a long hiatus.” She tittered, holding a gloved hand in front of her mouth. “What’s the favor, Eddie?”

“We’re trying to boost our sales, widen our audience. What better way is there to accomplish that, than by featuring the best of the best in entertainment?” Davis took her hand and gently placed it to his lips.  _ Or a weird, unrequited fling, perhaps. _ “You, of course, immediately came to mind, my starlet. Would you grant Miss Colvin an interview with you later tonight?”

Daisy still refused to look at me. “Why don’t you just interview me instead, baby? You know I don’t like talking to strangers.” She pouted, a pretty, perfect pout under her red lipstick. Her big puppy dog eyes would have been hard to deny if I didn’t feel like she despised me.

“Now, Daisy, you know your manager would kill me if I asked for a ‘private interview’ with you.” 

The actress blushed. “Oh, I know, but I thought I’d give it a shot. That’s fine, then. Anything for you, Eddie.” She batted her lashes at him. “Tell her to look for me in my dressing room after my film. Enjoy, okay?”

A man in a black tuxedo came and spoke to Daisy in a hushed voice, and then they left to be seated. After she walked away, I waved my hand in front of Davis’s face.

“What was that for?” he asked, confused.

“Just making sure I’m not invisible! Good gracious, if it weren’t for all her glares I wouldn’t know I was here!” 

Davis frowned. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t really think this through. I’ll make it up to you, Elizabeth.” 

I shrugged. Truly, I couldn’t care less. It was just rude of them.

We sat in the middle of the theater; the interior looked more like an opera house than a modern movie theater. A crystal chadelier hung from the high, painted ceilings over us, casting fractles of light across the velvet chairs. Thick curtains sat on either side of the stage, tied back with golden ropes and tassels. I tried not to look too awestruck, to fit in with the ritzy crowd around me, but it was hard to hide my wonder. The movie was very short compared to what I was used to; the run time clocked in at about fifty-seven minutes. That being said, I really enjoyed it. The plot was fun and the acting wasn’t half bad. 

After it was over, Davis ushered me up the stairs to the second floor seating so that we could go through a staff door. The theater was even bigger behind outside the showroom, with hallways stretching and twisting for what seemed like forever. Through opened doors, I could see stacks of film reels and spare equipment, as well as dozens of costumes in unused closets. A particularly cramped looking room caught my attention as we walked. 

“What’s in there?”

Davis stopped and looked to the door I had pointed at. “Oh, that’s the projector room. That’s where the staff operates the machinery to show the films.”

“By hand?”

“Yup. They load the films into the camera and use a crank to roll it.”

“Could you turn the crank really, really fast so that the movie went by in like, two minutes?” I asked, delighted by the prospect of ‘fast movie’. 

Davis laughed. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but it’d be fun to find out, wouldn’t it?” He walked me a little further down the hall before we came to a stop. “Daisy is in this one. I’ll wait here for you.”

_ I’m not sure if this interview would be worse with or without him. Do I want unfiltered disgust or sick-inducing flirting?  _ I sighed. Both were pretty bad. I braced myself and knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” the little sing-song voice called through the door.

“Hello, Miss Collins? I’m Elizabeth Colvin, Davis’s colleague.” 

There was the sound of a chair scooting across hardwood, and then the door opened to Daisy’s disapproving face. “Oh, it’s you. Let’s make this quick, if you don’t mind. I have a dinner party in a half hour that I have to attend.” Daisy left the door ajar and returned to her chair. She lit a cigarette in one of those long holders and took a long drag. Even lazily draped over her seat like this, she’s still gorgeous. “C’mon, chop-chop.” 

“Right, yes. So- could you tell me a little about the plot of  _ Morning Glory _ ?”

“Sure. I play a rich woman who falls in love with a ruthless scoundrel in the movie. He colludes with his lover and plans to murder me before our wedding for my inheritance, but I manage to see through his scheme. As for what happens next- well, you’ll just have to go see the film.”

“What do you think of your role? Do you think the audience connects with her?’

“She’s a very intelligent and decisive woman, like myself.” Daisy started, her eye’s alight with pride. “I tried to let myself show through the character. It’s a pity, though.”

“What’s a pity?” I asked. 

Daisy sighed and slumped down further into her chair. “She’s an idiot.” She took another drag of her cigarette. “She’s so blinded by love she couldn’t see the true nature of men. They only want one thing, anyways. Maybe two. Sex, and money.” 

“I’m sorry?”

“I wouldn’t fall into such a miserable state if I was in her shoes, you know. You have to keep your head about you. If you know what they’re after, you can’t get your heart broken.”

I cleared my throat. Her baby-blue eyes met my grey-green ones, and I saw such a profound sadness in them that it broke my heart a little.  _ This woman has been through the wringer.  _ “It might be easier if we just stick to the film, Miss Collins.”

Daisy shrugged. “Hmph. You think an article on the cinema alone is going to pull you readers?”

“I think a lot of people are interested in the evolution of cinema. The introduction of sound to films, these talkies, it’s a big deal.”

She turned to me with those sad eyes again. “You shouldn’t be interviewing me, then. Nobody actually pays attention to my work. They’re only interested in the scandals.” Daisy opened a drawer a fished around a little before pulling out a silver monogrammed flask. She took a few dainty sips from the metal container before politely offering it to me. I declined, and she continued. “You know, if you want to be the first to know about some new information, I’ll tell you a secret. For Eddie. Did you know I’m leaving this studio? I’m furious with them. They wanted to cast me as a second lead to a movie starring Rin-Tin-Tin. Do you know who that is, Colvin?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but Daisy cut me off before I even uttered my first word. 

“That’s right, a **_dog_**. A dog! They wanted to bill me second to a dog! What is the world coming to? Even after…” Daisy continued to talk on about the men in her industry and the many lovers she had had. As she rattled on, her posture got a little better, and while I could still tell that she was hurting, the conversation shift seemed to lighten her mood. I don’t really care for scandals; they won’t make for an interesting article, and Mr. Kane would no doubt reject it on the spot. I scribble down snippets of what she says anyways, The thirty minutes go by quickly, and soon enough, she’s wrapping up her last story about a director that asked her to be his girlfriend. I packed up my little notepad into my clutch purse and stretched a hand out to her. She looked at it for a few seconds, and then timidly placed her hand in mine. I clasped her frail fingers between both of my hands and held her there for a moment.  
“Miss Collins, thank you. I will try to write you an article that highlights the best parts of you, and your work. Please let me know if you need anything.”

Daisy hesitated, and then smiled. “Actually, there is something you could do for me.” 

“Sure, what is it?”

Daisy pulled on her hand a little and I let go so that she could jot something down on a slip of stationary from her vanity. She handed it to me; in a delicate cursive she had written an address and a phone number. 

“Let me know if Davis starts getting close to any girls, please?” I felt a sharp pang in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was pain for her or for me, but it was uncomfortable nonetheless. I felt dirty, taking the note from her. “Oh, and, can you let him know I need help with something before he goes? It has to be him.”

I said I would, and tucked her note into my purse as well. Then I left her there, in her chair, to send Davis in. When I told him what Daisy had asked, he smirked.

“Yeah, I know what she wants. Wait for me at the entrance, I’ll try to be quick. Alright?”

_ I hope he’s not implying what I think he is. _ “Alright. I’m going to go look around then.” 

Davis left me there to go to Daisy, entering her dressing room without even so much as a knock. I decided I would go before the moaning started. I started with the film rooms; I carefully slid each film canister over on it’s rack to read the taped names on each front. Most of them I didn’t recognize. I wasn’t a movie buff by any means; I had dropped out of my college film class due to it’s elitist professor and his need to choose films with sexual assault and animal death without warning. I  _ did _ at least recognize copies of  _ The Passion of Joan of Arc  _ and Hitchcock’s  _ The Lodger. _ After that, I was disappointed to find that the lobby did not have a concession stand. I had hoped that after the premiere Davis and I would go grab dinner somewhere… but since he was busy I thought I would try to tide myself over with some snacks.  _ Apparently, that’s out of the question.  _

Instead, I found a fancy arm chair and sat down in a huff. I dug my notes out of my purse and started flipping through them; there wasn’t much to go on, here. I supposed I could write about how the silent era was coming to a close, and might even become obsolete in the next year.  _ That’s true, anyways. The last silent film to be produced in America will debut next year, and the last one in the world in ‘35. Of course, they don’t know that, but… _ I frowned. I realized for the first time just how much I knew that I really shouldn’t. I wondered how it hadn’t come to bite me in the ass yet, and how long I would be able to keep up this charade without consequence. What would happen then? Would Isabel come back to me in my dreams and take me home? Surprisingly, the thought made me sad. It had only been a few days, but I enjoyed it here so far. When the time came, would I want to leave?  _ Would I have a choice? _

I wasn’t sure at first what it was that brought me out of my existential crisis. It sounded like a scream; however, another movie had already begun to play in the theater so I discounted it. The second scream however, was far too loud to be a recording. One of the doors to the showroom slammed open and a man spattered with blood yelled into the open lobby.

“They shot him! Somebody’s shot him!” 

All hell broke loose. A panicked crowd began to rush from the doors like a damn bursting open. Rounds of gunshots fired from inside the theater, though I couldn’t tell if they were following the people out or if they had stayed behind. I didn’t want to find out. I grabbed my things and ran up the stairs to the second floor to avoid being trampled by the stampede of screaming patrons. I turned towards the dressing rooms, looking for a place to hide, when a familiar face came into view.

“Oh, Mr. P-”

A leather glove clamped roughly over my mouth as Mr. Puzo swiftly rounded a corner with me in tow. A M1911 gleamed in his opposite hand, his finger on the trigger. My breath caught as my heart beat faster.  _ I knew it. I knew he was in the Mafia. Nobody dresses like that without having some sort of criminal record. _

“Shhh…” He whispered, stroking my cheek with his thumb. He kept alert, peering around the wall we had hid behind. I shivered. After a brief look at the area, I remembered something.

“Are you hiding, Mr. Puzo?” I whispered back after gently pulling his hand from my mouth. He nodded silently. “I know somewhere we can go, if you want. No one will find you.” I had his attention now. I squirmed a little as he looked at me with his deep brown eyes. “You have to let go of me first though.” 

Mr. Puzo lightened his grip on me, and I wiggled out of his arms. “Lead the way, Miss Colvin.” 

I took his hand and we quickly, quietly edged our way to the projection booth. Thankfully, we aren’t spotted, and we both manage to sneak in unharmed. The room is smaller than I remembered and I end up pressed tightly against Mr. Puzo’s chest. His heartbeat is a normal pace; he’s calm. I can’t believe his composure. After years in the American public school system, I know better than to talk in these sorts of situations, so we waited in silence. I was too nervous to even adjust for fear of making the situation more awkward. The gunshots slowed down like rain, with the steady firing turning into stray shots before all was quiet. We stood a little while longer before Mr. Puzo finally spoke.

“I’m going to check outside. Stay here, Miss Colvin.”

He left the room before I could reply, leaving me alone in the dark. I stood still, counting the seconds until he returned. It only took a about two minutes or so.

“Things seem to have settled down, but it’s still probably not safe to stay here. It will be best if we leave.” I followed him without a word. The closer we got to the stairs, the more bullet holes peppered the walls. A few bodies lay slumped on the floor, blood pooling underneath their spread coats. Despite the carnage, I found myself reaching into my purse to grab my notebook. As we hurried towards the theater entrance, I tried to jot down notes that I could work into an article. My attention elsewhere, I ended up walking straight into Mr. Puzo. I saw that he had actually stopped walking, and was now facing me with a curious look on his face.

“Miss Colvin, I admire your professionalism, truly I do; however, you do realize your life is in danger, correct? Shouldn’t that be your first priority?”

I blinked a few times, and then finished scribbling my last sentence before shoving the notes back into my bag again. _I mean, if I die, I die._ _Wouldn’t be Lizzie’s first time, am I right?_ Deciding not to be callous, I simply gave him a polite smile. “I understand. Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you. You may have just saved my life.” He paused, eyeing my bag carefully. “I know it’s your job as a reporter, but you must understand. Some things are not meant to be published for the public eye.” 

I stared at him through slit eyes.  _ Is this a threat? Are you asking me not to report about the shootout, or are you telling me? _ “Is that so?”

“You cannot do your job if you’re dead, Miss Colvin.” He said, coolly. “The things you put in your paper lead directly back to you. You must be careful.” He pulled out a silver cigarette case, and from within that pulled a small white card. “Here. If you need anything, please, give me a call.”

The business card was small and simple, with his name and phone extension. I tucked it away for safe keeping, though I wasn’t sure if there would ever be a need for his sort of help. 

“Boss, the spring cleaning is done.” Nino Ricci, the man I had met at Sky Tower, approached Mr. Puzo from the first floor. 

Mr. Puzo nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”

Nino recognized me finally, a wide grin spreading over his face. “Hey, Miss Colvin! Aren’t you looking just  _ bellissima _ this evening.” He reached for my hand and I gave it to him. He pressed it to his lips in a chaste kiss, then winked. “Why are you with the boss, eh?”

“We… just happened to run into each other, I suppose.” I stammered, blushing from the compliment. 

Nino frowned. “It’s dangerous to stick around here, Miss. Why don’t you come with us?” 

I hesitated. “I don’t want to be any trouble. I actually came here with my coworker, and I should probably go and see if they’re okay.”

“Alright, well, stay safe Miss Colvin. Hopefully our paths will cross again soon.” Nino beamed at me. I looked to Mr. Puzo and saw him give me a small nod of approval. 

I bid them both a goodnight before heading down the stairs and into the room where I had seen the ushers take the coats. As silly as it was, I couldn’t help but feel like it would be more of a travesty if I lost Davis’s mother’s coat than if I were actually shot. I gathered the fur monstrosity into my arms and left the theater to find Davis.

Luckily, I didn’t have to do very much searching; Davis actually found me first. He ran to me as soon as he spotted me scouting around the ticket booth. His face was pale with worry, and he looked genuinely frightened. 

“Oh thank God, Elizabeth.” He cried as he gathered me into his arms. The hug felt a little strange, but I let it happen. “Are you hurt? What happened? The shooting started and when I went to look for you, you just disappeared.”

I shifted uncomfortably under the burden of his attention. “I’m okay, Davis. There’s no need to fuss over me.”  _ How do you tell someone that you’ve been drilled on how to deal with these sorts of situations since grade school? Or that you just hid in a closet with a mob boss? _

__ The answer is that you don’t. “I hid until things seemed safe,” I said, hoping that the partial truth would satisfy him. 

“Hid until- how are you so calm?” He asked, incredulous. “There were… I think people died.”

I nodded. “I saw. I wrote down whatever I could while I was in there.”

“How can you be thinking about work at a time like this?”

“That’s just… how my mind works, I guess. I think I ignore the bad stuff to try and cope. Where’s Daisy?” 

Davis stared at me for a moment and then shook his head. “One of her agents took her out the back. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried about it. Let me get you home, please.”

“Can we actually get some food? I haven’t eaten since this morning and I feel like I’m going to pass out.” I replied sheepishly. Truthfully, I was a little nervous to go home, still; with this shoot out and the break-in to my apartment, things just felt unsafe. 

Davis nodded. “Yeah. I could probably go for something to calm my nerves. Do you mind if I pick the place? I know a pretty swell diner a few streets over.”

“Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bellissima- goregous


End file.
